With the Hearts of Lions
by eleventhwarrior125
Summary: Catherine is the daughter of a cruel, capricious king. Vincent is the knight assigned to protect her after failing to capture the vigilante ripping the criminals in the kingdom apart. Both must fight against their prejudices to save each other. M for violence and sexy times.
1. Prejudices

**AN: Welcome to my new story! If y'all just read my Bound to You story, I'm happy to tell you this is completely different. Basically, Catherine is the daughter of a powerful (but sexist) king in a faraway land and is to be queen if she marries Lord Marks. Vincent is a knight demoted to guard the princess after he fails to catch the vigilante who has been tearing through the criminals of the kingdom. Vincent **_**is**_** a Beast in this story as well, but he's learned to control it from a very young age.**

**Warning: this fic contains violence, graphic sex scenes, profanity, and misogyny. If you are bothered by any of these, you don't have to read it. It won't hurt my feelings at all, I promise. **

War was always something that fascinated Catherine. Something about the brutal savagery, the raw violence and the noble sacrifice for one's own people, the glory of a nation riding upon the shoulders of an army was alluring to her. The pride of victory, the rush of adrenaline, and the joy of the war cries were things that Catherine wished she could feel in her lifetime.

But as a princess, as a daughter of King Chandler, she would never be anything more than a figurehead. The closest she came to battle was from watching the troops march in great lines away from the castle, the sunlight glinting off of their freshly polished armor. It would be the cleanest the army's armor would ever be, right out of the castle gate, for soon their steel panels would be tarnished, dented, and spattered with blood.

The castle itself was a sight to be seen: standing gloriously atop a halved mountain; the mountain was something the gods themselves had split open for the royal family at the time. Its walls were carved of the most brilliant limestone, shining like a gem when the sun ensnared the castle in its rays in just the right angle of light. It sprawled over twenty acres, with four spires reaching up as if to touch the heavens. There was one large wall wrapping around the interior structures, connecting them through a series of hallways.

To most looking in, it was a haven of opulence, but to Catherine, it was one gigantic prison. She was born there, and there she would stay for the rest of her life, serving the men she was told to serve under. She was fiercely brave and loyal, and if she were a man rather than a woman, she would've been able to defer her duties to her younger sister and join the knights. But she was not a man.

The only way she could taste freedom was by using the hidden, underground passages beneath the castle to visit the valley, where most of her subjects inhabited. Her father forbade her to go anywhere near the city below the mountain, for fear that she may join the ranks of the vigilante's victims. Little did the king know, but she had nothing to fear from the vigilante.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Knighted Vincent Keller, son of Michael Keller and Nyssa Keller, stood stock still in front of his superior, his dented armor and scarred face often the subject of respect among his fellow knights. His helmet and sword lay at his feet as he stared straight forward, not reacting to the insults his superior was spitting into his face.

"Keller, you impotent shit, I would like an explanation as to why this vigilante continues to wander the streets of this kingdom freely," Master-of-arms Joseph Bishop snarled into his face. His dark face contorted with rage as he perceived his failure of a soldier. "You were my best man. I assigned you solely to the task of apprehending and prosecuting of this bastard known as the vigilante," Joe (as he was known by those he cared for) brought his steely eyes level to Vincent's. "He killed my brother."

"He is much better at evading capture than I had expected, sir," Vincent interrupted. The knights standing watch outside of the Army's station at the base of the castle mountain cringed at his insolence.

Joe's jaw clenched and his voice shook. "_Mice_ evade capture, Keller. Our enemies do not tremble in fear as they take sight of our battalion because we let mice slip through our fingertips. This army serves under the House Chandler, the mightiest kingdom on this continent, and we do not gather our reputation from _failure_, you arrogant prick. We are respected by all because those who cross us do not live to tell the tale."

Captain Bishop stepped back from Vincent, his own armor shining like the brightest of gems compared to Vincent's in the light of the fire. The loss of his brother, Darius, was obviously taking its toll on him, making the prospect of Vincent's failure all the more painful.

"You will be demoted, Knight Keller, from infantryman to castle guard. A position just opened up in the princess' personal guard, because whoever held that job before now gets _your_ responsibility." Vincent didn't show it, but on the inside he was furious. He had worked hard for years since boyhood to become a knight and join the King's Army, and now he had been demoted to be some spoiled, pretentious bitch's chamber guard.

"Yes sir," Vincent choked out through clenched teeth.

"You are dismissed, soldier," Joe commanded. Vincent saluted his now ex-commanding officer, grabbed his sword and helmet, and exited the stone Army station. The knights who had been listening in from the doorway were sorry to see their comrade go: he was an excellent fighter, and the only reason he was being sent away was because of Captain Bishop's delusional state.

The sky hovering above the kingdom reflected Vincent's own dour mood, the dark clouds pregnant with heavy raindrops, which were soon to fall. His anger picked at the lock he kept his Beast hidden behind, his eyes flashing golden momentarily before anyone else could notice. He pushed his demons back, back into the cage he had built for himself over many years. He was nothing if not a master of monsters.

It took Vincent less than ten minutes to gather his things from the knights' quarters, merely a section of tents a mile from the village, which sat in the valley in the shadow of the castle. He always traveled lightly, so packing quickly was a breeze. He didn't want to speak to any of his fellow soldiers: the shame of his demotion still fresh upon his damaged ego. The one person he did stop to speak to was his old, childhood friend JT (short for James-Thomas), who had been the medicine man tending to the army's wounded for as long as Vincent had been a knight.

The medical tent was at the mouth of the Army's camp, strategically placed so the wounded wouldn't have to walk all the way through the camp to get tended to when they arrived home from battle. JT had a very sorrowful expression on his face when Vincent poked his head inside of his tent. JT ushered his friend inside, where no one else currently was.

"I heard about you getting demoted to handmaiden," JT said, pulling Vincent into a strong, firm hug.

"I'm not going off to war, JT. I'm just heading up the mountain," Vincent replied, trying to put his friend at ease but embraced him back nonetheless.

He pulled away from Vincent. "Don't you get it? You're not going to be able to leave her side. The only way you could restore your honor is if you bring that vigilante's head to Joe on a silver platter. Half of me doesn't want you to, though. No offense to you and your comrades, but the only person really keeping crime down in the kingdom is that vigilante."

Vincent grunted in agreement. "Only the naïve still fear the king's justice. But I have no other choice, my friend. I must kill the vigilante so I may return to the ranks. Even the gods know I'm a damn good fighter." JT laughed, the smile not truly reaching his eyes when he clapped Vincent's armored shoulder.

"Humility was never your best suit, brother. I'll miss your arrogant, pompous ways. Don't let some precocious princess get the best of you, you hear? Don't speak out of turn, especially when you're around the king, gods bless his soul." He smiled sadly at his friend.

"You sound like my father," Vincent huffed, before hugging his surrogate brother once more, his armor impeding his movements slightly.

"On the plus side," JT wheezed in Vincent's metal embrace, "You won't have to wear this shit at all hours of the day." Vincent laughed once more and bid his friend goodbye. He didn't want to hear JT's frustrated huffs behind him as his childhood companion choked back tears. They had been inseparable for years until now, and parting with each other was like parting with a piece of themselves.

As Vincent began his trek away from the King's Army, he bid his old home one last glance. His brothers-at-arms would go on to accomplish great deeds and earn glory for themselves whilst he was stuck babysitting the king's spoiled brat. Perhaps it was rather irrational of him to hate her so: it was not her fault that he had been demoted, but he harbored a strong resentment against the crown. He had unwavering loyalty for the kingdom, not the king, serving the subjects rather than the royalty.

The walk along the road which snaked treacherously around the mountain up towards the castle was made ever the worse by the pinging of raindrops against his armor. After ten minutes, he was completely soaked through and absolutely miserable. His clothing beneath his armor would take hours to dry out, for it was spun with wool to keep his skin from chafing against the chainmail.

It took him approximately one hour to walk the road against the wind and the rain. By the time he was admitted through the castle gates, he was shivering so hard the separate plates of his armor rattled against his muscled frame. One of the gate guards asked him what his purpose was once he was inside.

"I've been transferred to be on the princess' personal guard," Vincent replied, trying to make his demotion more appealing and glamorous than it actually was. The gate guard nodded and escorted Vincent to the royal family's dwelling inside of the walls. There were hundreds of apartments in tenements lining the wall in a ring around the inner buildings. The apartments on the walls were for the castle guards and servants, whilst the gigantic main building housed the royal family and council members. Everything was linked together by passageways, the floors of which were made of cobblestones to make clean up easier.

They headed past the hundred foot high apartment buildings (a great feat of engineering), and waltzed straight inside of the royal palace, its four spires careening towards the sky like demons shooting themselves from hell. It really was a palace inside of a castle, its stone archways and grand, detailed murals screamed of wealth and affluence. The throne room was in the center of it all, its gilded architecture and grandeur all fell short of the magnificence of the throne itself. Or so Vincent had heard, as he was led left instead of towards the throne room.

"Magnus! Magnus, you silly bastard we've got a newcomer!" The gate guard shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Coming," replied a man running towards them, one hand hiking up his black, floor-length robes. His hair was gray and cropped short, a style adopted by the king himself but one Vincent hadn't particularly liked. "You must be Knight Keller. We've just received a raven that you've been selected to protect the princess. Oh, and Kurt, be a dear and get supper started once you get home," Magnus added to the gate guard, obviously intimately familiar with him.

Kurt, the gate guard, nodded and pecked Magnus on the cheek before retreating back to the main gate where he was stationed. Magnus gave Vincent an once-over. "You have a problem with Kurt and I's love for each other, then you'd best stay clear and keep your mouth shut."

Vincent grinned good-naturedly. "Love comes in all forms, sir, especially in the least expected ones."

Magnus brightened instantly. "Good! Follow me, then. You won't have time to change before you meet the princess, so try to make yourself as presentable as you can. Supper is on in two hours in the dining hall. You'll be able to eat leftovers once the princess had been put to bed. Be mindful of her little sister, Duchess Heather, she can be quite a nasty one if she catches guards or servants eating before the royal family does. You'll be keeping watch over her during the daylight hours and you'll be sleeping in a room adjacent to hers during the night.

"Any assassin you catch trying to kill her should be executed immediately. The only time you shall leave her be is during her baths and her rendezvous with Lord Marks, however short they may be. Lord Marks is betrothed to Princess Catherine, even though the princess seems to wish death upon her future husband every time he enters the room." Magnus scarcely took a breath as he led Vincent down the torch-lit corridor, rain darkening the sky outside of the palace as it pattered against the windows.

They climbed a spiral staircase which swirled and snaked its way to the top of one of the palatial spires, and stopped when they reached closed double doors at the top. Magnus bore his intense, emerald gaze into Vincent's eyes. "Do _not_, under any circumstances, let your prejudice get in the way of protecting the princess."

"I don't have any prejudice against the princess, sir," Vincent sputtered.

Magnus pursed his lips. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Knight Keller. There's a lot of really good liars in this world. Most of them are on the king's council. But I am the _best _liar out of all the snakes in this kingdom. It's the only reason Kurt and I can live the way we live without being sodomized and thrown over the castle walls. One of the perks of being so good at what I do is the fact that I can smell bad bullshit from a mile away. You, Keller, seem to have predetermined that you will hate this castle and everyone in it."

He indicated the closed doors they stood in front of. "The only true person in this castle sits behind those doors. I'd like for you to keep that in mind whilst you keep her safe. I care for the princess a great deal, and not only because I am paid to. You _will_ protect her with your life. Even with the hounds of hell snapping at your heels, you will take on armies single-handedly to keep her safe." Magnus leaned in close. "_Even if that means betraying the King, you will save Catherine. 'Tis better to be a traitor than to have her blood on your hands._" He stepped back and resumed his smiling façade while Vincent made a mental note to never cross the palace guardsman as long as he lived.

The door was flung open by none other than the King himself, someone Vincent recognized immediately from the King's periodic pep speeches he delivered to his army. The King was in a rage about something, the subject of which Vincent couldn't have heard through the thick oak doors, but he could hear His Majesty's heart thrumming angrily inside of his chest. His hair was cropped short, gray mixing with white, and his wrinkled face was fraught with frown lines.

Vincent assumed his attention automatically in the presence of the King, who was paying him no mind as he swept past both him and Magnus, his violet cape streaming behind him as he stomped down the spiral staircase. A small, unbelievably striking woman stood in the doorway to yell after him.

"That's it, you insufferable fool! Strike fear in the hearts of your enemies by _running away!_"

"Princess!" Magnus admonished. "Should anyone else have heard you, you'd have been severely punished. I know you can't bear some of the things your father does but he is the King, and you must pay him respect."

So _this _was the princess, her dark brown- almost black- hair braided into a pleat down the side of her soft, yet angular face. Her almond-shaped eyes were the brightest amber, not unlike liquid gold. Her stature was much smaller than Vincent's, igniting his protective instinct almost immediately.

"Who the hell are you?" She demanded, putting out his protectiveness just as soon as it started. Magnus groaned in frustration and stomped off in the direction the King had swept away to, obviously getting nowhere with the princess.

Vincent bowed. "Knight Keller, Your Grace. I am the newest addition to your guard."

The princess scoffed. "You _are _my guard, brave sir Knight. Come in," she sighed, ushering him into her bed chambers.

The chambers themselves were the epitome of luxury to Vincent. Her room was much bigger than what it looked like from the outside, signifying how high up it was in the spire. Her bed (large enough for three large men) was on the far left side of the room, a silken canopy hanging from the ceiling to drape gracefully over her down comforter. A cherry wood wardrobe stood ostentatiously next to it, presumably filled with the finest gowns in the kingdom. A set of double doors, obviously leading off to the balcony were straight in front of him, and a claw-footed bathtub sat on the far opposite side of the room. In between the doors to the balcony and the bathtub was another door.

"That door leads off to your room," the princess said as he strode across the room to open it. "Well, when I say room…"

"It's a broom closet," Vincent scoffed. His room consisted of nothing more than four dank walls, a cold stone floor, and a rickety cot that looked like it could collapse at any second.

"You'll take what you get and like it," the princess stated coldly. "There are thousands of people in this kingdom who would kill for that room."

"I know," he replied, throwing his bag onto the cot before turning to look at her, meeting her gaze defiantly. "I used to be one of those people…Your Grace."

The princess flinched at her title on his tongue. "Don't call me that. I'd rather you'd call me 'whore' than remind me of my station every five seconds."

"Well I'd rather not call you anything at all if you don't wish for me to refer to you by your station, m'lady," Vincent retorted, still somewhat respectful, even though he was a bit taken aback by her brashness. She seemed to be okay with 'm'lady', so she left it at that.

Vincent could tell that this was going to be a very treacherous journey in his quest to protect the princess. _Gods give me strength_, he prayed silently to himself.

**I know this is literally one day after I finished writing 'Bound to You', but I couldn't stop and I didn't feel like doing my homework so I made this instead. Let me know if you have requests for characters or sub-plot bunnies (because I already know what I'm going to do for the main plot). Reviews and constructive criticism are, of course, always appreciated.**


	2. Trials

**AN: All the reviews so far warm my heart. Just so y'all are aware: this fic will be much longer than my previous one. The setting is a lot larger than just writing about a cabin in the middle of the woods; it's an entirely new freaking universe, and the plot will actually go somewhere rather than just sit stagnant like Bound to You's plot did. Also, there won't be any many time jumps in this; everything is going to seem really slow in the beginning, but everything will eventually pick up momentum. **

**I refer to the King with a capital 'K' in the same respect that most refer to God with a capital 'G', because the King in this fic is known to his people as a divine figure. (Also, the pronouns referring to the King are capitalized as well, like 'His' and 'He'). The only thing the King in this fic and Mr. Chandler on the show have in common is the fact that they're both Catherine's father. The King is not a good guy. **

**Catherine has a pretty good mask to hide behind when it comes to unfamiliar people in her life, and most of that has to do with the fact that she must keep up appearances as a member of the royal family. She pretends to be a total bitch to the people who are supposedly lower than her, but she's just pretending. **

The princess wrinkled her nose at her new personal guard, who had just settled into his broom cupboard of a room. "You smell like a wet hound," she remarked, "I'd change out of your armor and undergarments before supper if I were you. No use in meeting the King looking like a peasant." A hint of what seemed like bitter sarcasm laced her tone, but Vincent decided not to ask her about it. He nodded, the soaked woolen underclothes beginning to itch at his scarred skin. He was about to strip off his armor in front of her before she stopped him.

"What on earth are you doing, Knight?" She demanded.

"My apologies, m'lady. I haven't had a room to myself in years, or any need for privacy," Vincent sputtered, face flaming as he realized his careless mistake. He dashed inside of his room, almost giddy at the prospect of having a door to close and of having a space to call his own. He was in and out of his room in five minutes, practically throwing his constrictive armor to the floor with a clang and peeling his sopping wool garments off to land next to his armor in a wet heap.

His only other set of clothes consisted of a finely woven tunic his mother had made for him and leather trousers. The princess was not impressed by his wardrobe choices.

"Is that the only thing you have?" She asked.

"Yes m'lady."

She pressed her lips into a thin line. "I'll have to order new clothing for you in the morning. No guard can protect me looking like _that."_

"Like what, exactly?"

"Like a _commoner_," she spat.

Vincent couldn't keep himself from retorting: "Not ten minutes ago, you requested that I no longer referred to you by your station. I wish to ask of you for the same courtesy."

The princess advanced upon him, her eyes cold and her face expressionless. "So that we may refer to each other as equals? You are not allowed to even _think_ of me by my given name, let alone propose that you may refer to me as such. I should have you discharged from the King's Army for speaking in such an insolent manner." Something about the way she said this led him to think that even she did not believe in the things she was saying. It was as if she were reciting lines fed to her from an early age.

Vincent bowed his head, swallowing both his pride and his Beast. "My apologies, m'lady."

The princess eyed him warily. "I must also change before supper. Turn around and do _not _peek at me until I give my explicit permission to turn back." Vincent complied, mentally berating himself for talking back and silently vowing never to do so again. She took a little longer than Vincent did to change, what for he couldn't guess, probably due to the complications in women's clothing.

"You may turn back," she sighed after she was finished. Vincent's pupils dilated as he took her in. Her dress was simple, violet under a lavender cape which was fastened with a silver clasp (the color of the House Chandler), but she was a vision nonetheless. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at his bewildered gaze before she began to walk from the room.

"M'lady! Where are you going?" Vincent asked, following after her.

"Supper, brave sir Knight, to which you shall accompany me," she replied, not turning to look at him as she exited her bed chamber and headed down the spiral staircase. As night began to fall, the sky outside of the windows provided no more natural light, especially with the rain pattering against the stained glass. The lit torches, hung sporadically on their way down to the main part of the castle, were the only sources of light in the palace's dark corridors.

The princess walked with purpose, her head held high, trusting of Vincent to follow her to the dining hall. Which he did, however begrudgingly, still resenting his Captain for demoting him to such a menial task. At least he didn't have to guard her bitter younger sister, Duchess Heather, of whom he had only heard horror stories from his fellow nights. Duchess Heather was shallow and vindictive, vying for her sister's crown even though Princess Catherine seemed to want nothing to do with it.

When they entered the dining hall, Vincent couldn't contain the amazed gasp from escaping his parched lips. Such a decadent place was this: one forty-foot long table laden with a feast fit for, well, a king. A roasted hog lay in the center, an apple clamped between its jaws, surrounded by boats of gravy, potatoes, broiled greens, candied fruits and bread puddings, goblets of wine, saucers of soup, and baskets of bread. Vincent had never seen so much food before in his life, save the victory feast the Army had provided to its troops after the Battle of Longfellow.

His stomach had never felt so empty before, his throat had never been so dry. Servants skirted past him, giving him sidelong glances as the newcomer. Some twenty chairs surrounded the table, filled with members of the royal family and the King's Councilmen. Princess Catherine had been the last to arrive, only to be seated on the right side of her father and ushered Vincent to follow behind.

All of the other personal guards to the royal family stood ten feet behind where their charges sat, so Vincent followed suit and assumed a resting attention position behind the princess' chair, not before pulling it out for her to sit. From whom he could see, just about every important figure in the kingdom was gathered about the table. The King sat at the head of the table in the largest chair, Princess Catherine was to the right of him and Duchess Heather was sitting to his left, symbolizing her lower status in the immediate family.

The duchess' amber eyes were neither as bright nor as beautiful as Catherine's for some odd reason. Physically, she was much rounder than her sister, her features were much softer. She wore a dark ring of kohl around each of her eyes, rouge stained her cheeks to an unearthly pink, and she had far much more jewelry adorning her dainty frame than the princess. The duchess' guard, who stood at attention behind her, looked both exhausted and absolutely miserable.

The disparity within the royal family itself was evident to the council members as well. Seventeen of them were seated up and down the table, each adorned with cloaks redder than the crimson in every sunrise, showing their status immediately as the King's confidants and advisors. The placement of the two women at the table was merely for show: neither the duchess nor the princess had any say in what went on in the castle.

Most of the meal went without a word from either of the young women: this was a man's world, and the men discussed business over roasted pork and boiled potatoes. Trade routes were being blocked off by floods and forest fires in the southernmost parts of the kingdom, while winter began to rear its ugly head in the far north. It never became cold enough here for it to snow; the capital's idea of winter was a month of hard rains before spring set in again.

The King bragged of His army squandering yet another rebel uprising in the east, a battle Vincent himself had been able to recollect. The way the King described it, the rebels were savages, travelling in hordes of untamed peasants until His royal army had cut them down. Vincent knew that He was bullshitting for the appeasement of His Councilmen, and perhaps even for the appeasement of Himself, trying to maintain the illusion that He, the divine King, still had control over his subjects.

The supper dragged on for two hours before the Councilmen excused themselves, waddling back to their quarters with bellies full to burst. The princess, who had not uttered a word the entire meal, decided to excuse herself as well. It wasn't until then did Vincent notice that Her Majesty's heart raced inside of her chest and her fingers were clenched in shaking fists. She was furious about something.

The King allowed her to leave without even sparing her a second glance, Vincent trailing behind her as they swept from the dining hall. Vincent's stomach growled again as they walked up the spiral staircase into the spire which housed her bed chamber, loud enough that even the princess could hear.

She produced a dinner roll from beneath the folds of her dress and handed it to him. "This should tide you over 'till I retire for the evening." Vincent thanked her and ate it in two bites as they continued their ascent, making sure to be polite enough so she didn't see his lapse in manners. He didn't ask her why she had snuck him any food at all, and instead accepted it as something he would only receive once.

It had stopped raining by now, for the moon cast its silvery glow through the panes of the windows in the spire. Once they reached her bed chambers, Vincent decided he was too exhausted to return downstairs after the princess had retired to bed, and instead would just go to sleep soon after she did. They staggered inside, and only then did Vincent finally speak.

"M'lady, might I ask of you the subject of your distress at supper this evening?" He inquired, still keeping his vow to be respectful to her.

The princess clenched her jaw. "I would rather have my subjects respect me than fear me. Rebellions only come around when subjects have cast aside their fear in desperate hope for a better future. His Majesty the King refuses to see the erroneous and costly mistakes He makes by making His people cower in His shadow of tyranny." She blinked, as if suddenly remembering herself. "But it is no concern of yours, nor is it a concern of mine as to how this kingdom is run."

"But you're to be queen, m'lady," Vincent protested.

She smirked humorlessly. "I shall be the queen in title only. All the decisions will be made by my future husband, and I shall be his doting and loving wife." Vincent could hear her heart slow as she calmed down. "Get some rest, will you? I have many responsibilities to attend to tomorrow, and I cannot afford to drag along my guardsman." Vincent nodded, the exhaustion setting in only after four hours of protecting the princess.

"Rest soundly, m'lady, and do not hesitate to wake me should you feel unsafe from the monsters which tread at night," he said, wishing her well as he closed the door to his closet of the room.

Had he not been who he was, he wouldn't have heard her mutter under her breath, "The monsters who tread in the night are the ones who should feel unsafe." What a curious thing for her to say, considering that she was half Vincent's size. Vincent didn't have time to dwell upon it, though, as he collapsed upon his wooden cot and fell asleep as soon as his head touched down.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Vincent awoke just as a chink of sunlight broke through the glass in his tiny window. A part of his heart ached for the days that he awoke to the sight of his brothers-in-arms sleeping in the cots next to him. The rest of him ached for something to eat, his large body requiring more sustenance than what he had eaten last night, and he began to regret his laziness for not going to the dining hall after the princess had fallen asleep. _Speaking of…_

He emerged from his room to find the princess fast asleep, the comforter and sheets encompassing her small body like a cocoon. She clutched her pillow as she slept, eyes racing underneath her eyelids in a response to a dream she was having. He yawned, and quickly caught a familiar, metallic scent through his superhuman sense of smell. Vincent had been around it enough times to instantly recognize it as blood, but it certainly wasn't Catherine's. His eyes flashed yellow for a moment, allowing him to find the source of the blood without a lot of snooping around.

The smell emanated from beneath the princess' bed, so he cautiously bent down to look. There seemed to be something akin to a chest or large box, fumes of blood wafting towards him as clear as day. He was about to reach out to grab it before the princess sat bolt upright in her bed.

"What in the hell are you doing?" She barked, causing Vincent to let out a surprised yelp. Her pulse began to pick up speed, indicative of nervousness or anxiety.

"I-uh, I thought I saw a mouse run across your chamber and hide underneath your bed," Vincent lied, not convincing the princess one bit. "But it was probably just a shadow," he added dismissively.

"A mouse?" She repeated skeptically, but her heart rate slowed back to its normal state, so she seemed to accept his excuse.

Vincent stood. "I didn't know when you wished to be awoken, m'lady. My apologies if I caused you to oversleep."

The princess shook her head and stretched. "I'll wake up when I need to be awake, so that is all that matters." She winced painfully as she rolled her shoulders, her nightdress covering so little of her shoulders that Vincent cast his eyes to the floor. He turned away from her as she dressed herself.

"Don't you have handmaidens to dress you, m'lady?" He asked, trying to keep the silence from getting awkward.

The princess snorted. "Little mongrels stole my jewelry. All I ever allow them to do is clean my chamber pots and fill my baths. You may turn around." He did as he was told and clasped his hands behind his back at resting attention.

"What all must you accomplish today, m'lady?"

The princess sighed as she brushed her hair (the only time he had ever seen it down) and re-braided it into a dark pleat. "This morning, we shall attend criminal hearings. I'm sure you're aware of the King's decree that He shall oversee any justice that goes on in His kingdom." She rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Do you not agree with all the King does, m'lady?"

The princess glared at him. "You ask too many questions, brave sir Knight. You are lucky that I am so lenient while you are still gaining your footing in this place. My father would have you flogged for speaking without being spoken to."

Vincent grinned. "That's what got me booted from the infantry in the first place, m'lady." He knew he was pushing her boundaries by speaking so freely, especially considering how little he knew her. He made a mental note to get a peek at what was underneath her bed at a later time, but now all he could focus on was his growling stomach.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

After breakfast, where Vincent was able to scarf down some soup and bread, he escorted the princess to the throne room. Once again, he found himself speechless in the presence of such magnificence.

The early morning sun light cast an amber glow through the stained-glass windows (the courtyard in the center of the palace was right next to it), its polished marble arches and high ceilings painted to resembled the heavens made it the second most beautiful place Vincent had ever seen. Hundreds of people were already packed into the room that was the size of an amphitheater, forced to bunch up against the walls, leaving enough space for the throne, three chairs, a platform for which they would sit, and the judging area.

The throne in the center was made of gold-leafed cherry wood, carved into with a skilled hand to form thorns and an insignia of a lion rearing its head. The family crest consisted of the fiercest of the gods' creatures, illustrating the former grace and glory of the House Chandler's might. The tyranny that the King now ruled with made the insignia superfluous, defeating the purpose it used to serve.

The King sat upon the throne, His crown and oaken staff carrying the power and prestige of His position more than that He Himself did not seem to possess. His age was beginning to creep up on Him, His sunken features making Him even crueler and more hollowed in the light of the sunrise. He gripped His staff with white, bony knuckles, refusing to show an ounce of weakness in front of His subjects.

He declared Himself to be the judge in all criminal proceedings, causing people to want to take matters into their own hands in lieu of His harsh punishments. Nevertheless, dozens of people appeared before the King on a weekly basis to plead their case. The princess and duchess sat on either side of His Majesty's throne in chairs not even close to as elegant as His was. Vincent and the rest of the personal guardsman (the King had six) stood either behind or next to their charges.

Magnus, the same Magnus that had led Vincent to the princess, also led the proceedings as well as made record of each plea from his perch at a writing desk directly in front of the King's platform.

"His Majesty, the Head of House Chandler, and the King presiding over the kingdom of Kroy Wen will now hear the first appeal."

A very large, surly man stepped forward with a boy no older than ten. The boy was skinnier than a sword and his wrists were bound, obviously the portly man's young prisoner. Both bowed in the presence of His Majesty before the man spoke.

"I am Gentros, son o' Möchte and Siré. I am the boss o' me bakery in the valley," the man grunted through his thick accent, and gave the boy he had a little shove. "This lil' runt stole some o' me bread. Says he's hungry."

The King leaned forward. "How much bread did he steal?" He asked, peering down at the young boy with a hawk like focus.

"O'er the las' couple o' months, he stol'd eight loaves, Yer Majesty," the man replied.

"And you've only just recently caught him in the act?"

"Yes, Yer Majesty."

"How much is eight loaves worth these days?" The King asked.

"Half a gold piece, Yer Grace."

"You boy, do you have half of a gold piece?" The King barked, the little boy starting with a jump before shaking his head 'no'.

"Then why did you steal this man's bread if you had no intention of compensating him for it?"

The boy swallowed before saying: "I was starving, Sire. I couldn't help myself, my hands sort of acted on their own."

The King's grip on his staff tightened. "Then perhaps your hands should have learned to behave before they robbed this man of his due. Guards," he commanded to the rows of men keeping the several dozen people in order, "One of you should relieve this boy of his sequestering, thieving hands so he may learn that while he may be lazy, others actually work for their way in life." The boy began to cry when a guard dragged him from the throne room and the bakery owner followed after.

The room was silent for a moment after that, the severity and harshness of the punishment stunning them to a standstill. Vincent himself bit back a protest as he watched the bound, weeping boy cry out for help. The princess' heart thundered inside of her chest, distress hidden remarkably well on her lovely face so that was invisible to all except for Vincent. Her sister, Duchess Heather, seemed remarkably uninterested in the proceedings.

It continued on for hours after that: case after case of trivial offenders receiving exorbitantly heinous punishments. One man killed another's horse in order to feed his hungry wife and children, and was sentenced to be castrated so he could no longer produce more mouths to feed. The King was a sadist when it came to punishments, especially when the perpetrator was a woman.

One of the last people to come forward was a middle-aged woman and her teenaged daughters. They had to hire someone to escort their bound attacker to appear in front of the kind. Their attacker was perhaps thirty years of age, with yellow teeth and a disgusting smirk upon his face. His eyes immediately found Princess Catherine from her perch next to her father's throne and brightened too much for Vincent's liking. She seemed to notice as well and turned her head to make sure Vincent was there, just to reassure herself. He nodded to her and she turned back just as fast.

The throne room was nearly empty, save the remaining case, the royal family, and the guardsmen that lined the walls where nearly five dozen subjects had stood only hours before. Vincent felt oddly exposed with nothing between the princess and the menace standing prostrate in front of the King.

"Your Majesty," the middle-aged woman began, "I am Ira, and these are my two daughters Lila and Rosa." Her voice began to shake, "And I stand here to accuse this man of raping me and molesting my children." The princess' grip on the arm of her chair tightened to such an extent that her knuckles turned white.

"And you are?" The King asked, directing His question at the man bound with ropes.

The man grinned toothily. "I am Tomas, son of Gregory and Anya, Your Grace."

"Did you commit the crimes this woman is accusing you of?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Why, pray tell?"

"They owe a debt to me, Your Grace. At least, their mother does. She has refused to pay it back, so I decided to take what is rightfully mine."

The King grunted. "From now on, they no longer owe a debt to you. Do you agree to do this?" The man nodded enthusiastically.

"Is that it?" The woman cried at the King.

The King turned His cold gaze upon her. "I beg your pardon?" His voice was calm, controlled and emotionless, much more terrifying than if He had been shouting.

The daughters stood behind their steadfast mother, who now had tears pouring down her face. "He took my daughters' innocence, their virtue. He humiliated my family. How can you just let him go free for him to do it again?"

"_No_," Vincent heard the princess whimper, desperate for the woman to stop talking. The princess knew that if the woman continued to speak out of turn at the King, both she and her daughters would be beheaded for questioning His Majesty's authority. The woman probably didn't care at this point: she would rather die than be humiliated by her rapist another day.

The King stood, using His staff to help Himself to his feet. "My ruling is just. You owed to him a debt and refused to pay him his due, so he collected his payment through other means. While I do not condone taking the law into your own hands, I could not think of a better incentive for payment. _You_, on the other hand, spoke out of turn during His Majesty's criminal proceedings. I am in a good mood today, lucky for you." The woman and her daughters breathed a sigh of relief.

"Instead of having you killed, I shall just have you flogged. Ninety lashes ought to do the trick," the King looked pointedly at the guardsmen closest to the mother. "And if the daughters fight you, give them the same treatment." The woman was aghast, her face contorted with rage as she and her daughters were dragged from the room as their rapist was unbound and allowed to walk free.

"Demon King!" The woman spat, her arms wrenched behind her back by two guardsmen struggling to pull her out of the room. "The rebels will come for you in droves so that you may taste your own brand of justice. I think a castration and a beheading are in order. _What about you?" _She screamed at Princess Catherine as the soldiers began succeeding in getting her out. "_Do you not have anything to say?_"

The princess stood and swept out of the room before her father or her sister could say anything else, Vincent trailed behind her. His hands shook and his teeth chattered, his rage shaking and boiling his blood like a teakettle. He had never witnessed so much evil in his life, even in the midst of war on the battlefield, even as blood rained down like a waterfall, he had never seen _evil. _At least, he had never seen the same brand of evil he had witnessed brewing in the King's eyes.

Once they were in a secluded spot away from the throne room, the princess leaned up against the wall inside of an alcove. Vincent studied her, listening as her heart finally slowed back down. _How could she condone this?_ He asked himself, but might as well as had said it aloud.

"Don't look at me like that," she snapped, her jaw clenched. "There was nothing I could do, so for the love of the _gods _don't look at me like that." She didn't shed any tears, as much as she looked like she would have wished to. Weakness was something people in the House Chandler did not show. "And no, it does not get any better. It has only gotten worse as he has gotten older."

"M'lady, I'm concerned for you. I saw how that Tomas, the rapist, looked at you. What if he comes after you?"

The princess was livid. "_Me? _I do not give a horse's arse about what happens to me. What I care about is the fact that those girls will never be able to walk about their own house without feeling unsafe. That Tomas man will go after them, especially after he knows the King doesn't care about rape or molestation. Women are objects to the both of them." She calmed her breathing and looked him square in the eye with the type of renewed strength and resilience most knights took years to obtain. "And I was a fool to believe that today would be any different."

With that, she left the alcove and strode onward, with Vincent following at her heels like a lost puppy. His opinion of her would take a lot more to change now more than ever. To him, she was still too consumed by her own safe little world to know about what really went on outside of these castle walls. Little did he know, but she had broken the boundaries in her small little world a long time ago.

**You'll notice that 'Kroy Wen', the name of the kingdom, is actually New York backwards. Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated. Love y'all!**


	3. Masks

**AN: I love you guys' reviews. It really does warm my heart, y'all. Btw, Vincent is **_**not**_** the vigilante in this, in case you hadn't already noticed. **

Vincent and the princess didn't speak to each other for the rest of the day, save the times when the princess gave him orders or instructions. He complied with her whims, but on the inside, he was quietly plotting ways to get out of protecting her for much longer. She wasn't particularly cruel, especially compared to her father, but the fact that she hadn't spoken up at all during any of the sentencing at the hearings that morning made her just as evil in his eyes.

While the princess had expressed some remorse for her abused, future subjects, she didn't really show it. She carried on throughout her day with smiles for everyone she passed. She had even sent Vincent to get measured for new tunics and trousers, a gift that he had accepted begrudgingly. When the princess had sat down with her father for supper that evening, she made no mention of that morning's events, and made no appeal for any of the extremely harsh punishments against the King's subjects. The princess even joked lightly with her sister (as bitter as Duchess Heather was, she still had a certain amount of affection for the princess) over poached chicken and candied pears.

People like her were enablers: looking out for themselves and only helping others when it suited them. Vincent was sure that hated her as much as he hated the King. At least, he told himself that he hated her. There was something about her that was alluring to him, something he couldn't quite get a handle on. His Beast certainly enjoyed her aesthetic features, but his normal-self longed for her to be someone else, someone he fantasized about. _She cannot honestly be as uncaring as she acts,_ he thought to himself, but quickly shook it out of his head. People like the princess never changed.

The woman Vincent wanted her to be: strong, fierce, yet still kind and genial to those in need. Sometimes, that woman appeared when she whispered her thanks to the servant who served her supper, something only Vincent and the servant could hear. She even slipped Magnus an extra cookie when she passed the court scribe/castle guide in the halls after supper. The minute she caught Vincent looking at her during any of those moments of kindness, she quickly disappeared back behind her mask of dutiful princess. Magnus' words echoed inside of his head from the night before, as he had Vincent vow to protect the woman that Magnus had described. Vincent would have gratefully taken Magnus' perception of the princess over _this_.

The only logical way of getting himself out of his protection detail (save from killing her), was to do exactly what he was being punished for: capture the vigilante and bring his head to Joe so that Vincent may be reinstated into the ranks. It would not be easy, for the vigilante was as swift as the wind and deadlier than the sharpest of swords. Vincent formulated a plan to get out of the castle at night and still be back in time before the princess awoke. He would patrol in the valley below each night until he had his nemesis' head on a pike.

What terrified him slightly was the prospect of using the Beast to accomplish such a task. He hadn't let loose in years; even on the battlefield he remained human, mostly because his fellow soldiers were always beside him. The Beast was the only thing that could possibly get down to the village and return to the castle with enough time to patrol for a few hours, so that was his only choice. However, it did not make his decision any easier.

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The moon had just risen from its daylight home to sit upon its throne in the night sky when Vincent left the castle. The princess assumed he had gone to the dining hall for his supper, and she would be in bed long before he was supposed to return his room. He didn't wear any of his insipid, dented, clanging armor, nor did he bring his sword, as they both would encumber the Beast's movements as he sped down the mountain. Instead, Vincent wore his only cloak which was as dark as the surrounding night and had a hood to cover his head with.

The Beast was well suited for running at night, the moonlight reflecting off of the onyx stones in the mountainside to provide what little light he needed. His reflexes were much sharper than any other being's, hopping over boulders and jumping off of small cliffs to land on the road periodically as it snaked its way down the mountain. Instead of just running on the castle's road, which would take an hour, he sped straight down the eastern mountain face. Luckily for him, no one was looking up from the village or down from the castle as he ran, so he wasn't spotted.

His veiny, scarred visage was fearsome enough to any ordinary human. His claws were much sharper than his sword or his various other weapons, his teeth gleamed pearly white (an after effect of his chewing of peppermint leaves after every meal to keep mouth infections away), and his demonic-looking eyes shone yellow in the abyss of the dark night. What was most noticeable, however, wasn't really something tangible. His strength rolled off of his gigantic frame like waves of glory from the gods.

The village in the valley was less of a village and more of a dense, sprawling city. It was a maelstrom of poverty and lawlessness: the King held no real authority there, even if it was mere miles from the castle of House Chandler. The city was formed like a target (with a bulls-eye in the center). The center buildings were either stone or clay, whilst the buildings and houses sprawling outward were made of wood, sod, or canvas. The streets were muddy, it having rained the day before, causing some buildings to have dried mud splashed in spattered striations on their exteriors. Candles sat in windowsills and the firelight from certain houses' hearths spilled through cracks onto the streets. Otherwise, the city was almost completed dark to regular human eyes.

To Vincent, the village was lit up like a candelabra, whatever light was available was immediately picked up by his night vision. It was a mile long in diameter, and it would take most investigators weeks to sweep for whatever they were looking for, but not Vincent. He stood atop a thirty-foot high boulder which allowed him a vantage point to look over the entire city. He closed his eyes and allowed his other senses to look for him.

His sharp canines bared themselves so the Beast could taste the night's warm air as his ears pricked upwards to muddle through the various noises emanating from the city. Whores shrieked drunkenly in the streets and alleyways, hanging loosely off of prospective clients. Men brawled in pubs and children cried like wailing sirens. Indeed, this village was a den of iniquity.

What he could smell was a whole other matter. Besides the other human fragrances, one other very distinct, very familiar scent lingered beneath the surface: Blood. It wafted over the breeze with its copper tendrils snaking out towards Vincent. Something within the Beast's magnificence thrummed happily, perhaps leftover from whatever created it, perhaps merely the suppressed demon licking its chops inside of Vincent's heart.

Like a moth to a flame, Vincent was drawn towards the scent which was in the center of the outer ring of the city. The houses in that particular section of the city were made of wooden slats nailed together and thatched roofs. If it were dry (which it wasn't) it wouldn't take very much to set the entire city ablaze. Vincent pulled the hood of his cloak over his still-bestial visage and kept his head down so no one who spared him more than a glance would see his golden eyes or his veined face.

People passed him by in the streets, some ambling around drunkenly, and others hurrying along as if they were running from something. The smell of blood grew stronger as he wandered deeper into the outer ring of the city. Something else drifted toward him upon the winter's breeze: the sound of a woman's gut-wrenching sobs. The cries emanated from a wooden shack just ahead of him.

Vincent snuck out of the street, away from the prying eyes of the villagers as he possibly could get before he peered into the cracks of the wooden slats to get a look at what was going on inside of the cabin. To his surprise, it was the last woman to appear before the King in court earlier that day. Her daughters stood, as if in shock, emotionally distant against the farthest wall away from Vincent. Their mother howled and sobbed in pain as someone (whose back was to Vincent) dressed the torn flesh on her backside.

The man tending to the woman was rather short, a black hood pulled over their head with a string secured around the back of it, a black cloak covering the rest of his body. What alarmed Vincent slightly was the fact that two blades rested together in their sheaths on his back, both light enough to be wielded with one hand (a style no one Vincent knew had mastered). The shanty's fire crackled with an ironic merriment from its place in the hearth, casting an amber glow over the crying woman and the man washing the blood and excess tissue from her back.

The man then rubbed an herbed poultice on the woman's back and the guardsmens' whip lashes seemed to lose their sting as it dried on her frayed skin. She no longer cried as, to Vincent and her daughters' amazement, her skin began to slowly knit itself back together. Whatever the man had brought with him was no ordinary poultice.

"_By the gods_," Vincent growled in amazement through the Beast's sharp canines. Instantly, he knew that he had made a mistake by saying anything at all as the man whipped around at the sound of the Beast's voice. Vincent saw that what the man had secured behind his hood was actually a mask of a lion's face, its fake jaws open in a carved roar. He knew instantly that this man was the vigilante he had been searching for.

The vigilante fled the shanty (as the woman cried her thanks after him) out of the door opposite Vincent, who immediately gave chase. This endeavor turned out to be not as easy as Vincent thought it would be: although the vigilante was (from what he could assess) human, he jumped atop the roof of the nearest house. Vincent could only zoom alongside, his black cloak billowing out behind him like a river of night, as he figured he was much too heavy to be able to run atop the weak roofs on the houses.

Vincent fought back a roar as the vigilante leapt over the spaces between houses, flipping to quickly change direction, and almost managed to shake the Beast at his heels. Almost. As Vincent ran next to the vigilante, the cloak flapped away from the man's legs, allowing for Vincent to see the row of knife holsters running down the man's outer thighs. Vincent couldn't see much else before the vigilante unsheathed one of his dozen knives and hurtled it at Vincent.

The Beast was unable to contain a howl of pain as the knife slammed into his side, forcing him back into an alleyway between two tenement buildings. The vigilante did not look back to see if his knife blow had landed on his intended target, and instead sprinted off into the night as Vincent phased back into his human form. He lay there for an agonizing moment before inhaling sharply and pulling the knife from his side. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as he howled again.

Unlike the woman the vigilante had been treating, Vincent did not need poultice to heal quickly. His wound was deeper than her whip lashes had been, so it would take until tomorrow to completely heal, but the blood flow began to slow. He lay there for another ten minutes before changing back into the Beast and fast-limped up the mountain, wary of the fast-approaching dawn.

When he had finally climbed back over the castle walls and mounted the staircase into the princess' bedchambers, Vincent could feel the extra energy he needed to heal begin to ebb from the rest of his body. He stumbled into her room, the pain in his side still excruciating, and was relieved to find the princess fast asleep in her bed. Part of him wanted to push his luck and take a look at whatever was underneath her bed (which still reeked of blood), but the other parts of him screamed for food and rest.

Vincent trudged into his room, shut the door behind him, and made sure to hide his cloak and the vigilante's bloody blade in his bag just as the edges of his vision began to grow darker. He collapsed from the pain and exhaustion in a crumpled heap soon after that, inches away from his cot and knocked out completely cold.

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He awoke a couple of hours later to a wave of cold water splashing into his scarred face. He started upward with a yelp, which quickly turned to a groan of pain as his still-sore knife wound smarted angrily. His face and shirt were dirty from having fallen asleep upon the stone floor. He gritted out a groan of pain as he held his side, before looking up to realize who had cast water over his face.

The princess loomed over him, already completely dressed, an only recently emptied chalice in her hand. "Rise, brave sir Knight," she commanded, in a mockery of the ceremonial words recited to usher a man into knighthood. "We have a _guest _coming to visit the castle today, so it's all hands on deck." She scowled at the word 'guest'.

"'All hands on deck'? Isn't that a sailor's idiom, m'lady?" Vincent ground out as he staggered to his feet.

The princess glared furiously at him. "Oh my gods_,_ are you _drunk?_"

Vincent squinted at her as sunlight flooded her room beyond his. "No, m'lady. Old war injury," he patted his side for effect as it finished healing underneath his fingertips. It would be a little tender for the rest of the day, but that was manageable compared to the agony of serving under the princess whilst he had been so close to freedom the night before.

"Try not to let it get in the way of your duties, will you?" She commanded, and threw a bundle of clothing at him. "You will wear your new clothes to be presentable in front of Lord Marks during his visit today." Vincent assessed her facial expression as she said 'Lord Marks', the name of her betrothed. She didn't even begin to attempt to hide her contempt of the man from Vincent.

He dressed as quickly as he could, trying to not bend his torso as much as he could. Most of the day was spent getting the castle ready for Princess Catherine's future husband. Servants bustled about, arms laden with things ranging from polished silver to baskets of bread or fruit. Every torch in the castle was lit, every passageway and entrance hall were swept and washed. Every panel of stained glass was cleaned until it shone brighter than the best cut of diamond in the radiance of the sunlight.

The princess was forced to sit in her chambers whilst the women the King hired to 'beautify' her primped her for her fiancé's arrival as Vincent was made to watch from up against the wall. He was forced out for a little while as they bathed her and washed her hair. He glowered at the women coiling and piling her glossy hair into a strange style he had never heard of before. It was outlandishly hideous, the way that her hair was micro-braided into loops on top of her head and stuck out in all directions. They slathered green makeup onto her eyelids and bright-pink rouge upon her cheeks, only after they had painted her with a pale white foundation that covered her tanned skin.

To top it all off, they smashed some sort of red paste onto her lips, as if to entice Lord Marks into kissing her. The green dress she wore (which was the color of House Marks) was tightly corseted and pushed her breasts upward. It was a southern style dress, the South being her fiancé's place of origin, and it was designed to keep women from speaking by restricting her breathing.

When the 'beautifying' women left to ready Duchess Heather, Vincent and the princess were alone in her bedchamber. She stared, horrified, at her 'new and improved' look in the mirror.

She could scarcely squeeze out a jest from her constricted lungs. "Aren't you…going to tell me…how beautiful I look?"

Vincent scowled at her reflection as he stood behind her in the floor-length mirror. "M'lady, this is the only time that I can honestly say that you are _not _beautiful. They've painted you like a clown and stuck you in a dress too small even for you."

The princess clenched her jaw. "I can hardly stand this now, when he's just _visiting._" She took a second to catch her breath before continuing. "I'll jump off of the mountain before I'll become his wife."

Vincent's expression darkened. "You'll do no such thing, m'lady. I will jump before you so that you may land on my broken body instead of let you commit suicide."

The princess nodded and smirked at him. "You may be incompetent, but even the gods know that you're loyal." The lack of oxygen going to her head must've caused her to go mad already, because she _never _joked with him like this before. He sent another silent prayer to the gods, pleading for them to gift him with the patience to last through supper.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Lord Marks insisted that he sit next to his betrothed, the slowly suffocating Princess Catherine. The white makeup plastered over all of her exposed skin clogged her pores and caused her to sweat in the confines of her prison of a dress. He was rather handsome, with a southern accent that made girls swoon (except for the princess), and wore rather fine robes. He obviously came from an extremely wealthy family, judging from how many rings he had on and the state of his shoes (which indicated he didn't have to walk where it was available to be carried). Lord Marks was pleased with his fiancé's womanly, complacent state.

"You see, this southern fashion is very popular with all the officials' wives and daughters ," Marks boasted. "Keeps the women enjoyable to look at, but it also keeps their mouths shut so the men can carry on with business." Vincent's fists were clenched so hard that his fingernails drew blood from the calloused skin of his palms.

The King looked like he wanted to take his daughter's place as the Lord's betrothed, constantly asking questions about the Lord's adventures and life in the south. Marks went on and on about his various hunting trips and exotic kills, as well as going so far in saying that he went to battle once.

"It was nothing, really. There were five of us and three dozen of them, so I suppose that they were sent after me by my enemies. Assassins, I'm sure," he said, with a wink at the princess, who made an attempt to smile back but it ended up being a grimace instead.

Duchess Heather wouldn't stop making eyes at him, willing to show her sister's betrothed how much better _she _would be as his wife and queen. The only person who seemed to not notice how much the princess disliked her future husband was Lord Marks himself. He grabbed her hand and looked pointedly at the King. "May I take my fiancé for a turnabout the castle?" Vincent nearly growled at the fact that Marks asked the King, not the princess, for permission.

The King nodded and smiled his fake, cold smile that made bile rise up in Vincent's throat. Marks helped the princess stand and made his way out of the dining hall with her on his arm. Vincent began to follow before the King called him back.

"Your protection is not needed at this time, Knight," the King commanded, not even facing Vincent when he talked to him.

"My apologies, Your Grace," Vincent replied and stood back behind Catherine's empty chair. Duchess Heather eyed him greedily without Lord Marks and her sister in her line of vision. Just out of spite for her, Vincent made sure no one else was looking when he flashed his eyes to their catlike, yellow glow for a moment. The duchess let out a surprised squeak, suddenly horrified of her sister's guardsman, and startled the King as he was taking a sip of wine.

"Dammit, woman!" The King swore, having spilled wine on himself. Vincent wore no expression as Heather continued to stare at him, mouth agape.

Before the King could say anything else to his youngest, his eldest strode into the room. "Lord Marks…has decided to leave before nightfall...father. He said that the mountain road…gets treacherous in the moonlight during our winter. I agreed for the sake of the safety of my future husband." The princess seemed to be having some trouble breathing as she said this, and blatantly ignored the scowl her wine-sodden father shot her way.

"Come, Knight," she called to Vincent, who obediently followed after her. Once they exited the dining hall, he became very aware of how shallow her breathing was getting inside of the confines of her dress. They started their way up the spiral staircase to her bedchamber before the princess had to rest on a step, panting heavily. She was sweating so profusely that the white foundation she had slathered on began to slide off. Without any prompting from her, Vincent picked her up, bridal-style, and ran with her up the stairs.

She didn't protest, knowing full well that she would lose consciousness if she didn't get that dress and corset off sooner rather than later. She gasped through gritted teeth as Vincent used his foot to open and slam the door of her bedchambers. He set her down on her feet facing her bed, and had her bend over with her palms against the bedspread. Had this been any other situation, he would've made some crass, lewd remark about her submissive position, but he didn't feel as if he were in a joking mood as he grabbed one of his daggers.

"Don't move," he instructed, and sliced through the laces on the back of her dress and corset in one long stroke. He peeled the dress and the corset partially off of her so her lungs could be free. She gasped, as if she had been resuscitated from drowning, and dragged in long, deep breaths.

"_Fucking _southern fashion," she spat, surprising him with her boldness and coarse language. Her underdress was thick enough for Vincent to no feel uncomfortable as she practically tore off her dress and corset. The princess then strode over to the bucket of drinking water and proceeded to wash her arms, chest, neck, and face of the horrible make-up that was smothering her.

"Why don't you go and get yourself something to eat, eh? That way you're not just standing there like a buffoon watching me rid myself of this _filth," _the princess suggested without turning back to face him, makeup running off of her in goops and into the water. As he grabbed something from his bag and made his way out, she called after him: "I will be in bed by the time you return. Try not to wake me when you stumble in, drunk again."

Vincent seethed at her accusation, but rather than insist again that his groggy state earlier that morning was due to pain rather than drink, he ignored her and decided to do another patrol of the village. What he really needed to calm himself was a little face-to-face with the little vigilante shit that stabbed him. The things he had grabbed from his bag before he left were his cloak and the dagger covered in his blood.

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Vincent had been in the valley for an hour already before deciding to circle back to the woman's cabin, where he had found the vigilante at the night before. He hadn't checked that particular location earlier because he hadn't figured the vigilante would be stupid enough to show his face there again. He was right, but only partially so, as he spotted someone else walking by: Tomas, the woman's rapist. That man was the reason both she and her family would never feel safe in their home, or anywhere else for that matter. The King had given Tomas even more power by showing him that he would not be punished for treating women like property, to be taken and used on a whim.

Before Vincent was about to tear his throat out, however, another cloaked figure swooped in from one of the rooftops across the narrow street and kicked Tomas into a secluded spot behind his victims' house. He followed, making sure to make as little noise as possible so he could let the vigilante carry out his own brand of justice. Tomas was on his knees in front of the vigilante, his face bloody from the kick he had received that launched him into the alley. The vigilante had one of his swords pointed at his victim's throat.

"P-please," Tomas pleaded, urine leaking through the seat of his trousers and onto the ground close to the masked man's shoes.

"_Disgusting," _the vigilante whispered, not loud enough for Vincent to be able to tell anything definitive from it. Before Vincent scarcely had time to blink, the man had cut off Tomas' head, the blood spilling out from the severed neck wound as fast as a swollen river during the rainy season. The Beast fought its way to the surface, growling in a twisted appreciation for the vigilante's violence. But Vincent was the one that wanted some violence for himself.

The vigilante unsheathed the other sword from his back sheath, his lion mask still twisted in a roar. Vincent pulled the dagger from beneath the folds of his cloak and hurled it at the vigilante at full force. The man swatted the dagger aside in mid-air before spinning in a complete circle to arc the blades in close to the Beast's scarred, veiny face. The only reason Vincent wasn't sliced by the man's swords was because of his superhuman speed, which allowed him to duck underneath the man's swinging blades and tackle him to the ground not ten feet from the vigilante's latest victim.

Vincent had used his right shoulder to dig into the man's stomach, but on his way down to the ground, he realized that some of what he slammed into felt oddly like a woman's breasts.

"G-Girl?" Vincent spat, suddenly feeling rather emasculated. He straddled _her_ and pinned her hands above her head, sword-free, with one hand in the blink of an eye. Even though she was extremely fast for a human, she was still human, and stood no chance against the Beast. She strained against his weight, panting desperately before Vincent ripped her mask off.

"_Princess?" _

"Knight Keller?"

**I know y'all pretty much knew who the vigilante was from the get-go, so the big reveal wasn't so big after all. Oh well. As you can imagine, Vincent's ego won't be doing so well after he finds out that his precious princess was the person who managed to hit him with a throwing knife. **


	4. Freedom

**Y'all are still readin'! You guys are too good to me, I swear. Much love to you lovely people reading and reviewing (or just plain readin', it don't matter to me). **

"_Princess?" _Vincent hissed through his elongated teeth, staring in disbelief at the woman beneath him.

"Knight Keller?" She asked, less sure of her identification of him, as his face was veiny and distorted. Vincent shoved the Beast back into his cage, allowing the clawed, deformed hand that held her down transform back into a soft, human one. Vincent immediately released her as one would release a hot coal, jumping back so he could put a foot of distance between them.

"M'lady, you are the vigilante?"

The princess snorted and got back to her feet. "I'd rather you not call me either of those things," she remarked, dusting off the dirt from her trousers and picking up her discarded swords.

"What should I call you, then?"

"Catherine. Or Cat, either one, it really doesn't matter. What's your first name?" She asked, wiping the blade of the sword she had used to behead a rapist only a minute before. She then slid both swords back into their shared sheath on her back.

"Vincent, m'lad- Catherine," he corrected himself from referring to her title. "I thought you didn't want me referring to you as an equal."

Catherine waved her hand dismissively. "That's the bullshit I spout inside of the castle. Out here, I am free to be called whatever I want people to call me by." She grinned. All of the makeup she had been made to wear earlier in the evening was wiped off, and her hair was back into her usual braid.

"Your mask is gone," Vincent remarked softly.

Catherine made a confused face, and picked up her lion's mask from the ground. "I've got it right here."

He shook his head. "I mean, _all _of your masks are gone. You're back to being beautiful."

She laughed before catching sight of her lost dagger, Vincent's dried blood over the blade. "Oh my gods, I threw my knife at you. Is that why you were groggy this morning? I am _so _sorry about that."

"Why were you throwing knives in the first place?"

Catherine scoffed. "I'm sorry, have you _seen _yourself? You scared the hell out of me last night." Her breasts were hidden under a padded leather vest, under which she had on a tight, black woolen tunic, the same kind knights wore underneath their chainmail. She had leather wrist braces wrapped tightly around her forearms, all the way up to her knuckles, presumably protecting her hands from shattering during hand-to-hand combat. The black cloak, similar to the one Vincent had on, billowed around her like a blanket swaddling a baby.

Vincent hadn't been lying when he told her she was beautiful. She always was, even covered in that swill she had on earlier that evening, but the freedom she experienced outside of the castle walls added a glow to her bright, tanned skin. Her cold, uncaring façade she maintained as the princess had been cast aside, and even as she stood only feet away from the man she had just beheaded, she was much kinder. She was selfless as the vigilante, not asking for recognition or glory as she protected her father's subjects from the King Himself.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Catherine demanded, smiling despite herself.

Vincent blinked. "Sorry, you just looked, I don't know, like a…" he struggled to find the right words.

"Like a what?"

"Like a queen," he finished, grinning like the fool he was.

Catherine laughed, pulled her hood up, and retied the mask around her head. "And now? How do I look now?"

"Like a warrior, Miss Catherine." Vincent reveled at the fact that he did not recognize her amber eyes beneath the mask before. Her eyes almost shone with a stronger, braver fire than what she exhibited in the palace.

"The dawn is only an hour away, so we'd best return to the castle before anyone notices our absence," she stated, pointing to the dark blue of the early morning. Vincent nodded and followed her out of the alleyway, not before casting a look back at the dead body of her latest kill.

"Do you just leave them here for the Army to find?" He asked, putting his hood up to walk beside her. No one else was out at this time of night, so Catherine could wear her vigilante's mask freely without fear of being reported (not that anyone here would report her anyway).

Catherine shrugged. "I'm the one cleaning up _their _mess, remember? If they'd just enforce some law here, I wouldn't have to go out every other night slicing up criminals."

"Where did you learn how to do it? How to fight, I mean?" Vincent asked, turning around a thatched roof house to go down another lane alongside the vigilante.

"My mother, actually. She was a Northerner until my father spotted her at an invitational ball and decided he _had_ to have her," Catherine seemed to harbor some contempt against her father, but didn't elaborate. "In the north, women have many more freedoms than they do here or in the south. They don't fight in the Army or anything like that, but some are guards for the North's lords and ladies. My mother's personal guard growing up taught her how to fight with two swords instead of one large one, a style that seems lost on the menfolk down here." Vincent could see her smug smirk beneath her mask as she said that. "She also taught me how to throw knives and fight hand to hand. I've been trained since the age of five in secret. There are only three people left alive in the kingdom who know about me: You, my best friend Tess, and my childhood nurse Magnus."

"Is that why he was so defensive of you the first day I arrived?"

Catherine laughed again, gracing his ears with that beautiful sound once more. "Magnus and my mother raised me in tandem as I grew up. He's very gifted in the art of using herbs and weeds to make poultices with certain _enhanced _medicinal qualities."

"Is he an alchemist?"

She shook her head. "Magnus has an almost perfect memory: any skill he witnesses being used in his travels around the kingdom, becomes his skill as well. Except for anything physical, of course." She led Vincent out of the village as she talked, walking north towards the castle's mountain. "My mother was killed by an assassin when I was ten. My father, not nearly as mad as he is today, assigned for me to have a personal guard from then on out."

"I'm sorry," Vincent said.

"For what?"

"About your mother."

She shrugged. "Don't mistake me: I miss her almost every day, but all children must bury their parents at some time or another."

"When did you become the vigilante?"

"When I was fifteen, so about seven years ago." She led him into a hole in the mountain side, which fed into a stone tunnel carved straight through the hard rock, lit by only three torches along the way.

"Is this how you've been beating me to the village?" Vincent asked, as they came upon a metal basket, large enough for three grown men, sitting in a stone shaft which shot straight up into the darkness. It was a steel cage, with a chest-high door to open and shut, and a wheel contraption on the inside attached to a crank and handle. Four long, very thick ropes were attached at the top of the cage to what seemed to be pulleys, as well as a fifth rope which connected all the top pulleys to the wheel inside of the cage.

"I assume you've been taking the hard way," she said, and climbed into the cage. Vincent stood warily on the outside. "Oh, for the love of the _gods,_ Vincent, get in the fucking cage." He complied, however begrudgingly, and shut the barred door behind him.

"How did you find this thing, anyway?" He asked, as she grabbed ahold of the crank on the wheel-and-pulley device on the side and started turning it. He let out an unmanly shriek as they slowly lifted off of the cavern floor and ascended into the darkness.

"When I was about thirteen, my friend Tess and I were exploring after sunset when we stumbled upon the underground passageways- _lord you are heavy-,_" she spat, continuing to crank the wheel before speaking again. "Eventually, we came upon an elevator shaft that went straight down through the mountain. It was a direct route to freedom." They rode upwards in silence for a little while, the absence of light didn't seem to bother either of them, before Vincent spoke again.

"Who was the first person you killed?" He asked her.

"Gold merchant. He had just killed an entire man's family because the man couldn't pay his debts. My father wouldn't have done anything about it during the hearing he held that morning, so I slipped out during the night. I only had a scarf to cover my face and some men's clothes I had stolen from the castle's storage room to keep my identity hidden.

"The swords my mother had used to train me were my only weapons. I was pretty nervous, so it took a couple of slashes to completely kill that murdering scum. I killed him while his prostitute had slipped away from his room to obtain more wine, but she had a rather nasty surprise waiting for her when she returned."

"Did it bother you?"

"Did what bother me?"

"Killing a man."

He heard her shake her head. "No. I only kill people who will either kill or rape again. Thieves and drunks don't concern me. I've killed some women, but it's mostly been men who had fallen victim to my blade."

"Do you hate men?"

"Of course not. I hate men who kill and rape, but I also hate women who kill for unjust reasons as well."

"Where do you draw the distinction, Catherine? Who is it that decides who kills for unjust reasons?" Vincent asked, not accusingly, merely curious.

Catherine pondered his question as a bit of light began to shine into the stone elevator shaft. "What else am I to do? We have no prisons to lock them away, and I can't just allow scum like that to walk free. Death is the only way I can even pretend to protect my people." The light shone brighter as they continued their way upwards, until Catherine stopped cranking and pulled another lever, presumably locking the pulleys in place so the cage wouldn't plummet back down the mountain.

"You would truly make a magnificent queen, Princess," Vincent breathed, staring at her still-masked face. They had pulled into another passageway, but this one was much better lit than the one at the bottom, and branched off into several different hallways. Moisture seeped from the walls of the cavern, as if the mountain itself was weeping for joy as its true Mistress returned home.

Catherine snorted. "Both the King and my betrothed would disagree with you on that, my brave Knight." She noticed him stiffen as they exited the cage. "What? What's wrong?"

Vincent shook his head and walked with her down the passage. "I just can't believe you have to marry Lord Marks."

Catherine laughed, causing Vincent to deepen his scowl. "He didn't leave as soon as he did last night because he was afraid of descending the mountain road at night, he left because I rejected his advances _again. _My father and my sister are the only two people still ignorant of the fact that Lord Marks and I aren't _actually _getting married, besides Lord Marks himself."

"So that whole '_I'll throw myself off of my tower before I become his wife' _thing was just for show?" Vincent asked, oddly relieved.

"Well, I don't plan on throwing myself off of my tower any time soon, if that's what you're wondering. Tess has vowed to poison him if need be," Catherine said, grinning beneath her mask.

"Have I met Tess?" Vincent asked, as she led him up a flight of stairs and out of a trap door at the top. The trapdoor led to the floor of a cellar, presumably on the first floor of the castle. Wine barrels were stacked in rows as tall as Vincent along all of the walls, and crates of mead were stacked in front of those.

"Unless you've paid for a prostitute here at the castle before, then I daresay that you haven't met Tess," Catherine replied, motioning with her finger for him to stay silent whilst she opened the door leading out of the liquor room and out into the hallway. "_Follow me,"_ she whispered, and darted out of the room. He sprinted after her, his catlike reflexes allowing him to be as quiet as she was. Both of their cloaks fluttered behind them, allowing them to blend in with the shadows.

The sun had not yet risen so none of the servants had risen, either. The dark blue of the dawn sky was all that registered with them as they zipped past the stained windows of the main hallways. The only person they encountered was Magnus, who had presumably just woken up. He seemed unsurprised to see Catherine up and about, but raised a disapproving eyebrow at Vincent, who followed closely behind her. The princess did not stop to chat with her childhood nurse, and instead continued onward to the spiral staircase which led up to her bed chambers.

They stopped running about half way up the staircase, no longer concerned with being caught out and about at this hour. Catherine took off her lion's mask and cloak hood, her braid looking a little more frazzled after riding inside of her hood. Vincent did the same.

"So what about you?" The princess asked him, her face finally exposed for him to stare at. "What made you, you know, turn into the Beast?"

Vincent shrugged. "I've been like this for as long as I can remember. Mind you, my teenage years were an absolute nightmare because of my raging hormones, but for most of my life I've been learning to control the Beast. I've been meaning to ask: why aren't you afraid of me?"

Catherine smiled, probably the single most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Why aren't you afraid of _me_?"

"Because you're a human," Vincent answered readily.

She made an impressed noise. "Most men would answer that it's because I'm a woman."

Vincent snorted. "You may be a woman , but your fighting skills are unparalleled. I mean, you managed to hit the Beast with a dagger whilst you were running over rooftops."

Catherine furrowed her brow. "That was one thing that surprised me. That knife should've killed you."

Vincent shook his head. "You only hit my side."

"No, I mean that dagger should have _killed _you. My throwing blades were all wrought with poison. That's why I was taken off guard earlier this evening, by all accounts I was sure that you were dead."

He pulled a face. "So you really hadn't known it was me until I pulled your mask off?"

She shrugged. "Probably the same reason you hadn't already known that I was the vigilante until you tackled me."

He put his hands up defensively. "I was certain that the vigilante I was chasing was a man."

Catherine feigned an offended face and swatted his arm playfully. "Maybe that's your lesson for automatically assuming that everyone you should respect or fear is a man." Vincent laughed agreeably as they walked into the princess' bed chambers. The sky was just beginning to lighten as the morning came, and provided them with enough light for her to find and light a couple of candles.

She then pulled the chest out from underneath the bed. "That's what I've been smelling? Your swords and knives?" Vincent demanded, somewhat relieved that she wasn't keeping any dead bodies in there.

She unclasped all of her daggers sheaths that ran up and down her trouser legs and her double swords from her back, placing carefully in the chest. She then unwrapped the leather strips from her knuckles down to her forearms and wound them into rolls so they wouldn't tangle. Finally, she took off her cloak and wrapped it around her mask to keep it safe with the rest of her weapons.

"Do you have any weapons you'd like to pack away?" Catherine asked her guardsman. He shook his head, so she proceeded to undress in front of him. Instead of being awkward and just turning around, Vincent went off to his room to pack away his cloak and changed into a clean set of clothes. When he came back out, Catherine was already back into her underdress.

"I'm going to sleep for a couple of hours," the princess stated, crawling underneath her covers. "I'd recommend for you to do the same so you don't collapse in the middle of the hall today." Vincent agreed, and napped on his cot, not bothering to change back into his night clothes.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Vincent awoke a couple of hours later to find the princess massaging her stomach where he had slammed into her the night before. She hissed out a breath of pain before clenching her fists and stood. The sunlight from her balcony's open doors streamed over her, illuminating her dark, braided hair and igniting the fire in her amber, almond-shaped eyes. He hadn't really noticed the muscles beneath the long sleeves of her dress, nor the pale scars that striped over her palms. He got up to greet her and pointed to her scarred hands.

"Morning, princess. If I may ask, how did you get those scars?" Vincent asked.

Catherine smiled. "I wasn't always so good with my practice knives. That's why I wear leather hand wraps, so I don't end up poisoning myself. What about you?" She nodded towards the jagged scar on his cheek.

"During the Battle of Longfellow, my helmet was knocked off and an enemy got past my defenses to do _this_," he replied, soldier's pride still somewhat flowing through his veins.

"May I?" The princess asked, reaching towards his face. He nodded and she ran her gentle, calloused fingers over the puckered flesh of his face. He studied her reaction as she slid her hand to cup his cheek and caressed his scar with her thumb. She clenched her jaw as she pulled away. "If I had been there, my Knight, I would've cut the bastard to pieces." Vincent laughed.

"Is it not my job to protect _you_?" He replied, before asking something else. "Are you going out again tonight?"

Catherine nodded. "I go out most nights. Why do you ask?"

"Well," he began awkwardly, and looked down at his feet. "I was wondering if I might accompany you on your patrol." He braced himself for rejection, but was pleasantly surprised when she smiled up at him.

"Of course! I'd love to have someone with me. You'll have to stay in your Beast form, obviously, so no one will recognize you," Catherine clapped her hands excitedly, giddy at the prospect of being able to share some of her responsibility. Just then, Vincent's head snapped around to the door, his ears twitching slightly. "What's wrong?" The princess asked, but Vincent relaxed.

"Don't worry, it's only Magnus," he replied, as Catherine's childhood mentor and advisor strode into her bed chambers.

"'_Only Magnus'_? Honestly, you two don't understand the gravity that my presence brings," Magnus jeered at them. "You two have known each other for what, three days, and you're already sneaking out of the castle together?"

"Actually, Magnus, we only snuck _back _together last night," Catherine corrected. "Vincent was chasing after the vigilante."

"Yes, because you threw a poisoned _knife_ at me," he retorted.

Magnus rolled his eyes. "Princess, I said it was alright for you to fuck your guardsman. I did _not _however tell you that it was already to go spilling your secret."

"Magnus, I am not having intercourse with Vincent," interrupted Catherine irritably. "And the only reason he knows about the vigilante's true identity is because he's not entirely human and managed to chase me down." Vincent made a frustrated noise.

"I've managed to keep it from everyone around me for years, Catherine. You did _not _have to tell him," he sighed, his secret already revealed.

Magnus eyed Vincent warily. "You two can't do any of this first-name-basis nonsense in front of anyone else, you understand? The King would have you flogged, Knight, if he heard you refer to the princess in such a familiar way. That is, unless someone were to _kill _the King," he glared pointedly at the princess.

Catherine sighed, the happy mood she had just been in was now gone. "Magnus, we've been over this a dozen times: I _can't_ kill the King. For one, no one would support me taking the throne without a husband, and all it would be is more violence from this wretched family that is House Chandler."

Magnus scoffed. "It would be the killing of a ruthless king by a lioness. House Chandler was once a glorious family, and every one of the subjects under the family's rule was proud to salute the Lion's Crest. Now all your familial symbol means is tyranny and corruption. I know that if you were to slay the King as the vigilante in front of everyone and then cast your mask aside, every one of your subjects would know that _you_ were their true Queen."

She clenched her jaw. "I hate him, Magnus, I really do. But I cannot bring myself to do it. I'm sorry."

"'Sorry'?" He repeated, disappointed in the woman he had raised. "Tell all the people he has crushed under his boot how 'sorry' you are." With that, he swept out of the room, leaving Catherine and Vincent to stand in silence.

Vincent clapped her on the shoulder, just as he would to any one of his fellow knights. He honestly didn't know what to say to her, because deep down, he knew that Magnus was right. Catherine merely clenched her fists angrily and brushed off his touch.

"Damn it," she spat shakily. Tears threatened the edges of her vision. She took a couple of breaths to calm herself. "I'm so helpless without my mask on. The vigilante part of me wants to rip my father apart, but the princess is too afraid to become a queen. I mean, who the hell would bow down to me? I'm a _girl, _for gods' sake." She stood out on the balcony and greeted the sunrise that was exploding into fruition over the horizon.

Vincent joined her and placed his hands on the railing next to her. "Honestly, Catherine? I don't think anyone would bow down to you in this state. You're unsure of yourself. I can see it, your enemies can see it, and that means your subjects would see it as well. But the Catherine that I met last night? _That _is the Catherine that people would worship. She's selfless, fearless, and absolute. _That's _the Catherine that I could call Queen."

Catherine smiled despite herself. "I hate the King, Vincent. Sometimes my other side wants to emerge in his throne room during his hearings and cut his head off with my mother's blades. But other times, I remember him when he was with my mother. He loved her so _much_. The only kindness he ever showed to anyone was towards my mother, and with her gone… He's insane."

Vincent watched the sunrise with her for a little while, basking in the silence before he spoke again. "Ask yourself what a lioness would do if her cubs were ever endangered. Would she hesitate to kill whatever or whomever stood a chance of harming her children? Now place yourself in her position, and your future subjects are your cubs. Do you love the people who serve you?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation.

"And if one tyrannical King was all that stood in your way of protecting your people, would you kill him?"

"Yes, but-," she began to protest.

"No 'but's, Catherine. Up here, in this tower, you seem to be so far away from the woman I met in the valley below. You cannot, for one second, doubt that your people will follow you."

"Vincent, I know that they would follow the _vigilante_. The lion mask represents protection and safety where the Army does not. What I doubt is their loyalty to House Chandler, especially after everything my father has done to taint our name."

He squinted at the rising sun. "Then you will fight for them."

She made a noise of agreement. "I will swear an oath of fealty to my people, not the other way around. I will be the Queen they deserve."

Vincent smiled at her, a genuinely proud smile. "I would be honored to be deserving of you, my dear Princess." Catherine returned the grin, a newfound sense of responsibility flowing through her veins. For years, she had been telling herself that she didn't want the crown. Now she realized she hadn't wanted it in the same way that the King wanted his daughter to have it. The sun rose over the land she would soon call _her _kingdom.

And she had no plans to share it with that insipid Lord Marks as her husband.

**If Catherine ever gets too Mary-Sueish for your liking, you feel free to let me know. I didn't want her and Vincent to be nearly as damaged and emotional as I had made them in 'Bound to You'. Also, don't be afraid to hate Evan in this story. The only thing that Evan on the show and Evan in this fic have in common is the fact that they have the same name and appearance. **

**Tess should be making an appearance next chapter! I wanted to make her pretty light-hearted and grounded, like she was in the first part of this season. **


	5. Counterparts

**AN: Just a little heads up in case you hadn't caught it in the last chapter: Tess is a prostitute in this fic. **

**Sorry about the wait, but homework had been piling up around me when I was writing so much, so I've decided to write everything on the weekends and then post chapters periodically throughout the week. **

After Vincent and Catherine had finished up with breakfast, they left the dining hall to move towards the entrance to the King's palace. The princess led the way with her guardsman trailing dutifully behind her, making sure to keep up the appearance of the normal knight-royalty relationship. They made sure not to talk to each other when they were in earshot of anyone else, lest they slip up and say something that would compromise the secrecy they had each worked so hard to maintain.

It was nice, even without talking to each other, just to be around a person they did not have to hide from. Their almost instantaneous camaraderie was something that knights in the King's Army took years to build. Vincent felt a lot less uneasy with his position knowing that, should he be unable to protect his charge, the princess was well equipped to protect herself.

Magnus passed Catherine two pieces of parchment as he walked past them in the corridor, without saying a word to either of them. She paused in an alcove to read both, not allowing Vincent a peek at either note. Her expression darkened slightly as she read them, but she quickly suppressed it before leading him in the opposite direction.

As they made their way down the sunlight corridor towards the entrance hall, Vincent made sure that no one was near before he spoke. "M'lady, where are you taking me?"

"Have you ever been to a brothel before?" Catherine asked, trying hard to suppress a grin at his bewildered expression.

"Once or twice, but I don't see how that pertains to anything, Princess." They resumed their blank expressions as a servant walked past them. Catherine wouldn't say anything further as she walked through the entrance hall and out of the immense palatial doors, which were the sizes of houses. Vincent blinked at the sudden brightness of the sun's glare, which disoriented him for a moment before he caught his bearings. Almost no one was out in the cobblestone streets behind the walls of the castle: everyone who needed to move from their tenements to the palace had already made their morning commute hours ago.

"I'm taking you to meet my friend Tess," Catherine said, heading off towards the section of tenements to the right of the palace. The tenements were nothing more than cement and stone living quarters built up to reinforce the castle walls from outside attack. There was enough room for hundreds of tenants in the buildings, but only several dozen rooms were occupied. The rest were kept open for visiting lords and merchants travelling through the kingdom. The easternmost section of apartments seemed to be the whorehouse for all who lived in the castle.

"Just to warn you: Tess can be rather grumpy during the day, especially towards me. She, like us, works in the nighttime, but unlike us, she actually gets to sleep during the day." They walked towards what was presumably the brothel, which was actually just a dozen apartments for the prostitutes living in the castle. They ducked through the front door and walked up a flight of poorly lit clay steps which led to a landing which had a beaded curtain doorway leading into an apartment. Catherine went through first, not bothering to hold the beaded curtain Vincent before he was smacked in the face with a couple of strands.

"Tess?" Catherine called, walking into the posh apartment as if it were a second home. It was more of one big bedchamber than an apartment: one large, curtained window was on the far right side of the room, and a couple of chairs were scattered throughout the silken melee, but the main attraction was the bed in the center. It was as large as Vincent's Army tent had been, with a turquoise canopy streaming down from a peg on the ceiling to drape over the rumpled sheets. What drew Vincent's attention was the very beautiful, very naked woman sleeping between the sex-scented sheets.

"Ugh, _what?_" The woman snapped, her long, curly hair falling to cover her flawless caramel skin as she stirred. She yawned and stretched, exposing too much skin for Vincent's comfort causing him to avert his eyes to the floor. While she was not quite as beautiful as Catherine was (in his opinion, anyway), Tess was a very striking woman indeed.

She raised an eyebrow at the clearly uncomfortable Vincent. "My dear Princess, I do believe we have a _gentleman _in our midst. Hide your blushing eyes there, dearie, I'll get into something less comfortable." Vincent didn't dare remove his gaze from the cracked tile floor as Catherine's friend rose groggily from her bed to slip on a thin silken robe.

"That actually looks a lot more comfortable than anything I have," Catherine quipped, unfazed by her friend's wispy thin robe which was barely long enough to cover Tess' upper thighs, and barely thick enough so that her breasts remained hidden in the shiny material.

Tess laughed. "Well, that's what you get for being a stodgy princess with personal guards. I'm guessing that sleeping naked with him in the next room is not yet on the options list," she gestured to Vincent, whose eyes continued to be downcast. "Cat, it's not that I'm not absolutely thrilled to see you, but you usually don't bring your guardsman on your visits."

Catherine seemed to remember herself. "My apologies! Tess, this is Vincent. Vincent, this is my childhood friend Tess." Vincent sent her an unbelievably awkward wave with an equally uncomfortable smile. Tess remained expressionless as she pulled the princess to the side, out of what she thought was Vincent's hearing range.

"Cat, honey," Vincent heard Tess whisper, "You know that I love you, and I'll always do you for free. But I am _not _servicing the Knight assigned to protect you."

Catherine shook her head vehemently. "First of all, he's been serving me for only three days so _no. _Second of all, I brought him with because I _sort of _let him catch me as the vigilante."

Tess' expression darkened. "Please tell me that you did not just say: 'we've known each other for three days' and 'he knows I'm the vigilante' around the same damned time. You've managed to keep your secret from all the guards you've had before for _years, _but you couldn't keep it for three days with _him?_ What in the hell is wrong with you?" Tess looked over Catherine's shoulder to glare distrustfully at Vincent.

"He caught me after I killed a man in the valley. It's okay, though, because I'm guarding his own secret-,"

"Wait a minute, are you going to tell _everyone _you know about me?" Vincent interrupted. "I mean, I know that _you_ trust her. That does not mean, however, that _I _trust her as well."

Tess raised her chin defiantly at him, unfazed by the fact that he had overheard them. "And what say you, fair knight so eager to interrupt his superiors, to the fact that I am the most trusted woman in this castle? Every one of my clientele knows that they need not swear me to secrecy because I already know when to keep my mouth shut." Vincent narrowed his eyes at his princess' lifelong friend distrustfully. "Catherine," Tess asked sweetly, without breaking her gaze from the knight, "would you be a dear and get me some wine from the cellar? I haven't anything to drink since last night and I am _parched._"

Catherine looked between her two friends. "Try not to kill each other whilst I'm gone, alright? Or I will put you _both _in the infirmary." Neither Vincent nor Tess said anything as their mutual friend swept from the room to get a bottle from the brothel's wine cellar. They glared at each other in silence before Tess spoke again.

"Why don't you trust me?"

"Why should I trust you?"

"Catherine does, and I'm going to let you in on a little secret: Catherine rarely trusts anyone. That little fact alone makes me trust you, at least enough so that I haven't thrown you out of my apartment. I'd just like to know _why _she has let her guard down for you. I mean, you've only been her guardsman for three days, and you've earned the thing that has taken me a lifetime to build." Tess narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. "When Catherine finally becomes queen, she's going to need people to lean on.

"She's strong, don't mistake me for saying anything to the contrary, but no one can properly handle a kingdom on their own. She can't do that if she suddenly loses one of the people closest to her. I mean, she hasn't known you for very long, but I can see that she's laid out pretty much everything she has and shown it to you."

Vincent was clearly uncomfortable with the sentiment that the princess' trust had. He had no idea that, in the short time they'd known each other, he'd been added to the small circle of friends that Catherine had. "Forgive me, Miss Tess, for not really understanding exactly what that means."

She shrugged. "Honestly? Neither do I. What I really need to know is: What in the world did you do to make her trust you so much?"

Vincent sighed before letting his eyes glow the same golden color that the Beast's eyes were. Had this been merely seven years earlier, he wouldn't have had nearly enough control over himself to keep from changing completely. It was only through years of discipline and training that he could finally master his power.

Tess' face cracked into a wide smile. "Does this mean that you'll be able to keep up with Catherine when she goes patrolling?"

"Hardly," Catherine snorted as she re-entered the apartment with a ceramic jug of wine in her arms. "Vincent will be lucky enough just keeping track of me. If he does catch up, however, I can just throw another poisoned knife at him." Her tone was the complete opposite of serious, but Vincent didn't doubt that she had the ability to carry out her light-hearted threats.

Tess' eyes widened. "_Another _knife? As in, you've already stabbed him with one?" She glanced back at Vincent with a newfound admiration. "You must really love your job if you're staying with the princess after _that._ Where'd she get you?"

Vincent patted his side. "It took a lot longer than most of my wounds usually do to heal, so I figured that there had to be something special about the blade. _And _the person throwing it."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "He automatically assumed the vigilante was a man."

Tess laughed. "Well, in his defense, not many women can do what you do. I mean, I love you Cat, but there's no way I'd be able to keep up with you."

Catherine waved her hand dismissively before straightening her expression. "I actually didn't bring Vincent here just so he could meet you. I needed council for some information one of my sources provided me with. I have dozens of informants all over the kingdom," she added to Vincent. "Well, the vigilante does anyway."

Tess became concerned. "What is it? You've never asked me for council before; that's Magnus' job."

Catherine sighed. "I already know what Magnus would say. I received a raven yesterday from the Eastern Plains. My informant has been keeping an eye on the rebels ever since their forces were suppressed at the Battle of Longfellow two years ago. Up until now, there's only been whispers and rumors of a second uprising, but about a month ago my informant received word of the rebellion beginning to amass even more men than before. If what he says is true, then the new rebel forces will be able to overwhelm the King's Army and overthrow the King Himself."

"Wait a moment," Vincent interrupted, somewhat confused, "I thought you _wanted_ the King to be overthrown. I mean, isn't He the entire reason why you've seen necessity in becoming the vigilante?"

Tess answered for the Princess. "What we want is for _Catherine _to overthrow the King. She's the rightful heir, and will be able to serve her people well. What we don't want is the uncertainty which stems from having a rebel ruler instead. And I doubt that they would keep the princess alive long enough for her to explain that she's on their side."

He nodded. "Many of the men of the King's Army would gladly defect to the rebel forces once they made it to the capital. Most of the infantrymen have brothers and cousins in the rebellion, so the decision wouldn't take too long to ponder." Tess and Vincent looked at the princess for her to continue.

She looked positively stricken. "If what my informant says is true, we may have only six months before the East rises against the King. The Southern and Western lords are fiercely loyal to Him, but it's the neutral North which worries me. The Northern lords and ladies are loyal to House Chandler only because it has been joined with a Northern house."

Vincent grunted. "I believe that they would defer their allegiance to you once you take the throne. You represent the values of the lower classes in the entirety of the kingdom. What remain uncertain are the lords of the East and South."

Tess grimaced. "They live in opulence because of the King's 'gifts' of gold and money. If the princess were to accomplish all the welfare projects she has planned, she would not be able to maintain the same relationship with those upperclassmen. The only solution I see is assassination."

The princess sighed and took a swig from the jug of wine she had originally gotten for Tess. "The only way I'd be able to get away with killing the King _and _the Western and Southern lords would be if I were to kill them simultaneously. And, at this present time, I have no allies in those regions that I would trust enough to do it. I can't do it myself because I'll be the one killing the King."

Vincent took the jug from her and gave it to the parched Tess before responding: "I have plenty of contacts stationed in both the Southern and Western capitals."

Catherine shook her head. "I cannot have any of the King's Army men killing the people they have sworn allegiance to. Regardless of their intent, such a breaking of their vows would end in their executions." She strode over to Tess' bed and plopped herself on top of the rumpled sheets. "Everything I think of ends with the death of people who don't need to die."

Vincent smirked humorlessly. "This coming from the woman who dons a lion's mask every other night to slice up the people who have commit only the most heinous of crimes."

"I don't want to end up like my father. I mean, for gods' sake, I want to _kill _the man. Word of the vigilante has reached every corner of the kingdom. People practically worship the icon of someone so absolute."

Tess sipped from the jug of wine before sitting next to the princess on her bed. "I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but you can't keep putting it off. You said it yourself: we may have only _six months _to convince the rebellion that you're on their side before they storm the castle. You can't just wait until the ideal time. You _have _kill your father. And soon."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

They parted with Tess soon after she had finished giving her advice to the princess. Vincent could tell that he was going to like the princess' childhood friend: She was blunt, honest, and didn't stand for bullshit. Both of the women would have made very good soldiers, he mused. Both were loyal and caring to the people of the kingdom.

For the rest of the day, Catherine and Vincent continued to maintain the ruse that they were still only knight and princess. Every once in a while, when no one was looking, she'd send Vincent a reassuring smirk, to which he'd wink back. Their friendship, while only having existed for half a day, was stronger than what most made in a lifetime. She even snuck him a couple rolls of bread before supper so he wouldn't be hungry while she ate with the King and the Duchess.

Finally the night fell, something both of them had been looking forward to all day. Tonight would be the first night that they would be able to patrol together. Catherine convinced her guardsman to ride down with her on the elevator tunneled through the mountain. He held the torch whilst she operated the brake to slow their descent to the cavern below. The weak light he had illuminated the ghoulish hollows of her lion's mask, which he had observed on their way down.

Once they made it to the bottom of the mountain, Catherine took the light from him to ignite the torches she'd placed along the stone corridor to help her find her way back after she was done.

"Vincent, now would be appropriate to change into the Beast," she ordered, pulling her hood up tighter so the mask wouldn't have an opportunity to slip. He nodded and donned his own hood so that it would cut down on the glare from his eyes.

"I've been given information that a woman killed a man and his two children last night while we were duking it out on the other side of the city," she remarked, her speech somewhat muffled underneath the paper and canvas mask.

"From whom did you receive this information?" He growled out between his massive teeth.

"I told you: the vigilante has eyes and ears all around the kingdom. Come, this way." She took off at a sprint towards the outskirts of the village. Vincent was able to keep up with ease. Their cloaks fluttered behind them like the wings of a heroic falcon, which beat the air as it soared mightily on its search for prey. Vincent could hear her heart steadily thrumming in her chest as they ran, their pants cutting through the warm night air.

He decided that he could watch her for ages like this as she led him through the dense, sprawling mass of canvas houses. All the worry she had exhibited that morning during their discussion with Tess was not with her tonight. She was so much freer with her lion's mask on, and he could see the inkling of a smile leaking out from beneath the lion's roaring maw.

She dodged through alleyways and even jumped on top of a couple roofs before coming to an abrupt stop in front of a clay-and-sod shanty. Vincent could smell the bitter, metallic scent of old blood all over the outside of the house she had led him to. It had only one window on the east side of the house, he noted as they pushed the door open and stepped inside. The moon was the only light source, filtering through on top of the winter's breeze. Catherine gave a little gasp at the sight of the crime she had only heard about by raven.

The letter she had received that morning from her informant didn't come close to preparing her for the brutality she had just come upon. The stench of blood and decay hung heavily in the air over the bodies of a man and his two children. All three were inhumanly skinny and frail; products of the fruitless harvest the kingdom had experienced last season. The children stared upward at the ceiling, spread-eagled and gutted, their eyes milky and glazed over. Their father was probably only a foot taller than they were, but other than that he was no different. Their blood pooled in the center of the uneven clay floor, just as cold as the bodies the blood used to inhabit.

Catherine lifted her mask so that it would stay on her head while her face was exposed. "Seelas' letter didn't say anything of this magnitude," she stated numbly, not knowing exactly what else to say. It wasn't that she was cold or uncaring, but she couldn't shed any tears. It was as if she didn't really comprehend what she was seeing.

Vincent's face twisted into a fearsome grimace. "Who is it that did this, m'lady? Are we to kill him?"

She shook her head. "Their mother, his wife, _she _did this. Seelas told me that a couple of neighbors could hear them fighting last night. The neighbors are the ones that called upon him to investigate: everyone knows that he has a direct link to the vigilante."

"Does he know that you're the princess?"

"No. I've convinced him that the vigilante is a castle guard. He's never heard the vigilante speak. He sent a raven to Magnus to give to me immediately after he found the bodies. The woman who did this has been reported to be part of a slave trafficking ring here in the city. Seelas didn't know for certain until this morning. He said her superiors must have ordered her to cut ties with her family."

"She cut their bodies," Vincent hissed, his breathing ragged with rage. She didn't respond as she pulled a flask of oil from the folds of her leather vest and poured it over the bodies. She shut the children's eyes as she did so, not letting them continue to be without their dignity. By the time she was finished, the flask was empty and oil coated every available surface.

Catherine pulled a flint and dagger out.

"How can you just burn them?" He demanded without even looking at her.

She lowered her mask back onto her face. "Because it must be done, brave sir Knight. Now let's _go. _We still have a woman to string up for the murder of her family." She struck the flint with enough force to create a shower of sparks before she pushed him out of the clay house. It erupted into flames in less than a minute, Vincent noted as Catherine sheathed her dagger and folded away her flint.

Vincent's mighty jowls salivated at the prospect of ripping the person responsible for the deaths of those children and their father limb-from-limb. Instead of going anywhere, Catherine slunk back into the shadows between two houses opposite the one she had just set fire to. She clambered on top of the house to the right and motioned for Vincent to join her. He did so only because the house was made of stone and clay, and wouldn't buckle under his weight.

She lay flat on her stomach, pressing herself down to the cold rock of the house's roof, decreasing the likelihood of being spotted. He did the same next to her, although he was still rather large and his eyes glowed rather conspicuously. He let his face change back, the rest of him fully Beasted-out, so he could whisper discernibly.

"Why are we just waiting here?" He whispered.

"Sadists generally return several times to the scene of their crimes to re-live what they have done to the fullest extent. That's why I caught Tomas last night, and that's how I'll catch this monster, too." Catherine responded, before subconsciously nestling closer to him. Part of her wished that her was actually here to protect her, but the other part of her was glad that she could take care of herself.

They lay together in silence, listening and watching the night settle into its home around them. It took an hour for the house and the bodies to completely burn, leaving nothing but a burned shell of what once stood in its place. Fifteen minutes after that, a cloaked figure walked down the lane with its hood pulled over its face. They didn't move from their place until the figure stopped in front of the burned house.

"_Damn _it," Vincent heard her say, the unmistakable peal of a woman's voice underneath her scathing tone. Catherine looked at Vincent for confirmation before flipping off of the roof with a certain grace which he required a moment to admire. He changed his face back to the Beast's before zooming after her as she kicked the cloaked woman into her burnt house, a move not unlike the one she had used on Tomas the night before.

Catherine unsheathed one of the double-sworded pair from its place on her back. The one window allowed the moonlight to gleam menacingly on the side of the sharp blade. The woman's hood had been pushed back to reveal her terrified, pale face as she scrambled as far away from the vigilante as she could, into the corner. Rather ironically, the charred remains of her victims lay only feet away from her.

She was rather filthy, with rotten teeth and sallow skin. She looked like a corpse.

"Before I behead you," Catherine seethed through the lion's maw, "I'd like to know what on _earth _possessed you to kill your children and your husband."

The woman shook her head. "P-please don't kill me. I-I don't want to die."

"Is that what your children said to you before you gutted them?" Catherine hissed. The woman cast her eyes to the floor. "You will _look_ at me when I am speaking to you," she commanded, pressing the tip of her blade to the woman's chin so she could raise her eyes.

"I trade slaves," the woman spat through her tears. "I was doing fine until one of those _vermin_ escaped. I couldn't pay for the thing I had lost, so my employer bade me to pay with my family's blood."

"Did your employer threaten to kill you?" Catherine asked softly. Vincent was beginning to worry that the princess was going to falter.

The woman nodded as she sobbed. "I was so helpless. He was going to kill me, and I couldn't protect myself. I'm a _woman,_ after all."

Vincent was about to tell Catherine to ignore the woman's cry for pity before Catherine lifted her mask. "According to the King, I am the most defenseless and most helpless in the kingdom. I am a _woman_, after all. If I were you, however," the princess hissed, "I would have let myself be killed by my employer than gut my own family." She pulled the mask back down before killing the woman.

Though it was not as clean and as civil as most would expect justice to be, it was justice nevertheless. The Catherine that Vincent had conversed with earlier that morning wouldn't stand a chance against her father and the lords of the West and South. _This _Catherine, however, looked as if she could take on the armies of hell and the rebellion at once.

The only way she could become Queen would be if she ever managed to combine the two sides of herself into one. And that was an entirely different battle in it of itself.

**Sorry about how long this took! I'll try to manage my time more responsibly so I can update more often!**


	6. Friendships: Old and New

**AN: I love y'alls and kind words! I honestly don't know what I'd do without you guys. **

**I've decided that Catherine's fighting style would be pretty similar to Kristin Kreuk's character in 'Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li', and Maggie Q's character in 'Naked Weapon'. Both women fight with a lot of speed, ferocity, and grace. (If you haven't seen either of those movies, I suggest looking up the fight scenes on Youtube or just watching the movies online. They're awesome girl power movies.)**

After they returned to Catherine's bedchambers for a couple of hours of sleep, Vincent found himself ensnared in the cusp of a nightmare.

Part of him knew that it was only a dream. He could see over the entire kingdom: from the forests of the North to the plains of the East to the deserts and savannas of the South and to the Western Sea. The sun rose over the great expanse of Kroy Wen with its crimson blood painting the sky before it. Mist from the sea rose from the West to encircle the King's castle mountain, smoky tendrils reaching out as if to strangle the cold mountain. The pines of the Northern forests roared in the moaning gales of the winter, swaying bitterly against the forces battering them.

The Eastern Plains glowed bright with hellfire as demons would rise from the pits of the earth to descend upon one, singular place. They raced west as the waves from the Western Seas crashed over cities and villages and dragged themselves eastward. The winds howling from the North swam through the atmosphere to whip the eastern wildfire into an even higher intensity. Vincent realized with a sinking feeling in his heart that everything was converging upon the King's castle.

Waves crashed at the base of the mountain as flames licked at the onyx boulders on its eastern face. The winds howled, racing over the surface of the wildfires and the monstrous waves in circles, like a hound keening for a raccoon perched in a tree. The city in the valley was completely submerged in a sea that was usually thousands of miles to the west, every mention of human flame extinguished in the water's salty embrace. The King's Army was burnt to a crisp on the other side, their tents going up in flames like match sticks. Steam rose in great, billowing clouds where the flames met the water, neither completely able to overtake the other.

What alarmed him the most was the sight of the two people peering down from atop the castle walls at the melee below. One was a heavily coifed Queen swaddled in the most ridiculous, cumbersome dress, the golden crown upon her black hair glinting in the glare from the blaze below. The other was a cloaked figure with two swords strapped to her back and a mask pulled up to expose her face without it falling off. Both were Catherine.

The Vigilante Catherine stood on the left side, where the flames were advancing from, while Queen Catherine stood on the right side, where the Sea was coming from.

"_I have no one to save," _Vigilante Catherine spat with a clenched jaw.

"_I have no one to rule," _Queen Catherine cried, tears rolling down her bright rouge cheeks.

The flames and waves began to creep up the mountain toward the castle. "_Catherine!" _Vincent shouted over the roar of the flames and the crash of the waves. Neither gave any indication that they had heard him. "_Catherine! We have to get out of here!" _

Vigilante Catherine looked at Queen Catherine. "_Neither of us is truly Catherine," _she said.

The Queen gave a yelp of pain. The heat from the eastern wildfire was beginning to melt the gold in her crown, molten tendrils of amber leaking down the side of her face like teardrops.

"_My Queen!" _The Vigilante sneered, mock-bowing at the sobbing Queen.

"_I knew I could never be Queen!" _Queen Catherine screamed, ripped the molten crown from her head, and tossed it to the Sea.

"_You just didn't have the guts for it, did you?" _Vigilante Catherine hissed.

The Queen's face contorted with disgust, oblivious to the waves coming ever closer. "_At least I don't kill remorselessly. Are you even human?" _ The flames behind the Vigilante crept over the wall just as the Sea lapped over the other side.

"_At least I did what needed to be done! All you've ever done was cry over how fucking hard your life was!" _The Vigilante hissed.

"_You killed my father without a second thought. You didn't even shed a tear," _the Queen retorted. "_And then you turned the kingdom over to me! I needed you, but you just left!"_

"_You said you didn't need me after I killed our father. You threw me away. All I ever was to you was a campaign ploy to get your people on your side!" _The Vigilante didn't let the Queen have a chance to say anything back as she tackled the Queen. Vincent could only watch as the flames and the waves crashed over them, burning them and drowning them with their own fears.

He awoke drenched with sweat, his cot pressing painfully into his pressure points. His eyes hazily took in his clawed, deformed hands for a moment before he realized that he had turned into the Beast during the duration of his nightmare. His breathing was ragged as it whistled through his elongated teeth. For some reason, this nightmare had caused him to lose the careful control he'd struggled to build over his lifetime. He could hear his own heart pounding mercilessly against his ribcage.

Vincent focused, not on his own heartbeat, but the one thrumming with life in the next room. Perhaps it was the fact that he was no longer concerned with the fact that Catherine was a woman, but he took solace in knowing that she could protect him. He knew that, should he ever be injured in battle, she would fend off the enemy with one hand and tending to him with the other.

_Speaking of…_ he thought to himself. He got up to peer through the crack between his door and the doorjamb, not willing to disturb what he was seeing. Catherine had presumably woken up earlier than he did, dressed only in her thick cotton nightgown and a light sheen of sweat coating her exposed skin. For a minute, Vincent assumed that she was dancing with an invisible partner. It wasn't until she flipped in mid-air to gain momentum for a spinning kick did he realize that she was practicing her hand-to-hand combat skills.

He wondered to himself why she bothered with her swords and daggers when her punches and kicks were just as sharp and lethal. This was unmistakably a Northern fighting style, probably the same style her mother had been taught growing up. The air whizzed past her limbs audibly as she began to move faster, blocking invisible attacks and retaliating with fast jabs and hooked kicks. Had Vincent been anything other than who he was, his eyes probably wouldn't have been able to make sense of it all.

What surprised him the most was her facial expression: it was not the cold, calculating face of the Vigilante, nor was it the worried and exhausted face of the Princess. She looked calm and, dare he say it, _happy. _A hint of a smile curled the corners of her mouth as she twirled through the air, her dress' skirt flowing effortlessly with her movements. This wasn't the same as the cocky smile the Vigilante had worn the night before; this smile was weightless and genuine.

For one big finale, she ran _up_ one of the walls only to push herself off midway. She completed a mid-air backwards somersault to land in a crouch on the floor. Vincent was aghast: the amount of training and careful discipline required to become a master like the Princess was mirrored in the amount of time Vincent had spent learning how to control the Beast.

"Wow," he said, somewhat forgetting himself as he walked out of his room, applauding what he had just witnessed.

Catherine stood awkwardly. "Oh, you were watching?" She dusted the dirt off of her knees and wiped the sweat from her brow.

"My apologies, I didn't want to disturb you while you were so focused."

She grinned. "I knew you were watching. I was just showing off."

He laughed. "I figured, but you also have much to show off."

She glanced down at the cotton nightgown. "Yeah, well, I couldn't sleep." She splashed some water on her face from the water bucket before motioning for Vincent to turn around so she could change.

"So," Vincent began with his back facing her, "you have Tess, Magnus, and me to keep your secret. What about your sister? Does she know anything?"

Catherine snorted. "She's always been father's little girl. The last time we exchanged more than pleasantries with each other was about three years ago. She wants to be Queen, you see."

"But you're to be Queen," Vincent said, furrowing his brow in confusion. She tapped his shoulder to let him know that she was done dressing.

"She doesn't want the crown for the same reason that I do. She wants to be Lord Mark's wife and to be adored by all the citizens of the kingdom. Heather has no idea how much the kingdom hates us," she said bitterly.

"Do you hate her as you hate your father?"

She shook her head vehemently. "I will always love my little sister. She hasn't spoken out against the King, but she hasn't hurt anyone, either."

"Do you think that she will support you as Queen?"

"Honestly? I have no idea what she'll do," she sent him a quizzical look, "What brought this on?"

Vincent shrugged. "When you take the throne, you need to have as many as you can on your side. The support of your sister could go a long way. I mean, I know you wouldn't be able to kill her if she was against you."

"You have a point, but there's not one single way I can think of to convince her that the King is evil and that I'm on her side," she rubbed her temples, stress leaking back into her soft facial features.

Not wanting to see her happiness bleed away, Vincent took her hands into his. "Hey, let's not dwell on that today, alright? If you'd like, I can take you to see some of my Army friends."

Catherine smiled. "Yes, I'd like a break from all of this 'princess' bullshit," her face fell slightly.

"What is it?"

"We're not supposed to let anyone else know that we're friends, remember?"

Vincent grinned reassuringly. "You can say that you're paying a visit to the Army camp to make sure that everyone maintains their loyalty to both the current King and the Queen-to-be."

The princess laughed. "And they say you're just a pretty face."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Two hours later (after Vincent had practically inhaled two bowls of soup and half a loaf of bread), the princess and her guardsman stood at the mouth of the King's Army station at the foot of the mountain. Instead of wearing the black cloaks they usually donned on their out-of-castle activities, Catherine wore a violet one, and Vincent wore a deep crimson guard's cloak (something she had fished out of storage for him).

The first tent inside of the camp was the medical tent where JT spent most of his time. There hadn't been a battle for years, so most of JT's patients had influenza or broken limbs from falls. It was fully stocked with two dozen cots and enough herbs and poultices to heal the entire kingdom. No one was currently in the tent except for Vincent's childhood friend, so he led the princess inside. JT was stocking cloth bandages onto shelves with his back turned to the tent flap when he heard them enter.

"What can I help you with-," JT began to say as he turned to face what he thought were prospective patients. At the sight of the princess, he fell prostrate to his knees in front of her. He bowed his head and said, "Your Grace."

Vincent laughed. "It's okay, JT, you don't have to bow to her." JT cast a quizzical look at his friend, not daring to make eye contact with the rather bemused princess.

"James-Thomas Forbes," Catherine stated before extending her hand, "My name is Catherine Chandler." He grasped her hand before she pulled him to his feet with a surprising amount of strength. "And Vincent's right: you don't have to bow to me. In fact, I find it rather annoying."

"'_Vincent'_?" JT hissed at his friend and did a double-take at the princess. "You called him 'Vincent', m'lady?"

Catherine chuckled. "Just as I will call you JT or Sir Forbes, and just as you may call Catherine."

JT scowled. "I will not call you _Catherine_, princess. I refuse to refer to you as I would refer to a friend, which you are not."

Catherine inclined her head. "If you wish."

JT clenched his jaw and grabbed Vincent by the cloth of his cloak to drag him to the side. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you bring _her _here, of all places? Half of the Army hates her and the King, and would gladly put her head on a pike given half the chance. And if she were to die, then so would you."

"I understand your concern, but-," Vincent began, but JT cut him off.

"No, I don't think you _understand._ You could be killed if the King heard you talking to the princess as if you were friends. Hell, your fellow knights would kill you just so they could get to her. You'd probably fight to the bitter end with that fucking cocky grin on your face, but you would lose eventually." JT was livid, his voice shaking so much that even Catherine could hear it from her vantage point. "I have always loved you, don't you understand? Regardless of what everyone else thought of you being friends with the butcher's boy, you _always _stood up for me.

"And I swear to the almighty gods that if I lose you, my brother, because you got too close to the princess for the King's liking, I'll probably get killed as well trying to obtain revenge. I'd rather you be holed up in that castle, docile and obedient like a guardsman should be, than making day trips down here with your _charge._" Catherine flinched, feeling almost as if she were intruding upon an incredibly intimate, familial conversation.

Vincent hung his head. "I'm sorry, mate, for having concerned you so."

"'_Sorry'? _Vincent, you didn't steal my toy sword, you blatantly put yourself and your charge in danger by coming to see me. If you really value my friendship, you'd take your princess and get the _hell_ out of here before anyone else finds out that you two are here." He paused at the sight of two shadows, presumably outlines of a couple of soldiers, casting themselves on the outside of the medical tent's canvas skin. "_Too late,_" JT hissed. "Put on your hoods and sit on that far cot. Do _not _turn around until they're gone."

They did as they were told as quickly as they could before two knights entered the tent. Vincent and Catherine sat facing away from the soldiers, shoulder to shoulder, hoods pulled over their faces.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" JT asked the knights, perhaps a little too cheerfully. The both of them had drunken too much mead the night before, and were seeking a cure from their hangovers from JT. They left soon thereafter.

When they turned to face JT, he was paler than the naked full moon. "Do you have any idea how bad things could have gotten if they had stayed much longer? Why the hell didn't you wait to see me after dark?"

"We usually have other duties to attend to," Catherine answered.

"Oh really, princess? Are they so important that Vincent had to put both himself and you in jeopardy because he couldn't miss it? What duties are these, specifically?"

"We behead murderers and rapists in the valley," the princess snapped.

JT was aghast and turned to Vincent. "You're the vigilante? After all of this nonsense of trying to capture him?"

Vincent narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "Not me, you dolt, _her._" He pointed to Catherine.

JT laughed. "Bullshit. Seriously, though, what the hell occupies your nights with so much importance to relegate a visit to an old friend to the daytime?"

"Seriously, JT, the princess is the vigilante," Vincent insisted.

JT's grin slid off of his face as he studied Catherine's impassive expression. "Sweet gods above, you're not joking. What in the hell? Why?" He sputtered.

"My people need protecting," she said. "The Army isn't doing a very good job of it."

He inclined a skeptical eyebrow. "Your father is responsible for that."

"His time will come as well."

"When? Soon, I hope, I mean half the kingdom is starving and the other half is plotting a revolution," he glared at Vincent. "When were you planning on telling me?"

Vincent shrugged. "I've only known for a couple of days myself."

JT's jaw tightened. "Don't tell me that you've been going with her. Do _not _tell me that you've been stupid enough to risk both your secret identity and your life." He scoffed at Vincent's guilty expression and glowered at Catherine. "This is your fault, Miss Catherine. He wasn't so reckless before he met you. I've managed to keep his secret safe for years, and (I'm assuming that he told you) he blabs to you after only five fucking days. You're going to be the death of each other, I can tell."

Catherine put her hands up as if to placate him. "Sir Forbes, I know that you don't trust me," she ignored his scoff, "but Vincent's secret is safe with me."

JT crossed his arms. "Aren't you the teensiest bit afraid of the Beast?"

"JT," Vincent growled warningly.

"I know that _you're _afraid of the Beast, dear friend. But what about the vigilante, hmm? What say you to the fact that he can turn into a killing machine like _that?" _JT snapped his fingers for effect.

She shrugged. "I kill, but I'm completely human. I have no excuse for my actions except for my belief that I'm doing the right thing when I execute a criminal. Moral grey area is not new territory for me."

JT rubbed his temples. "Yes, while that's all well and good, I'm having a heart attack at the mere thought of you two policing the kingdom together. Vincent, my brother, though I have missed you these past couple of days, I think your visit must be cut short."

Vincent nodded begrudgingly, seeing the effect of his recklessness upon his best friend's face. JT looked as if he were about to keel over from worry.

"May I stop in some night during my usual patrol time?" Vincent asked.

"Only if you don't draw attention to yourselves," JT seethed out through gritted teeth, his patience beginning to wear thin. As they made their way out of his tent, he grasped the princess' arm. "_If you get him killed, m'lady, I don't care how noble your intentions are. I will hunt you down until my last breath is drawn, do you understand_?" He hissed into Catherine's ear.

She nodded. "Honestly, JT? I'd rather die than see him hurt as well." The clear, brutal honesty in Catherine's eyes took him aback slightly, before becoming a deciding factor to him: The fact that she was willing to protect Vincent at all costs bought her the lifelong, unwavering loyalty of James-Thomas Forbes.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

When they got back to the castle, they headed up to Catherine's bedchambers for something closely resembling a nap. Just as Vincent was about to head into his tiny broom closet of a room, Catherine called to him from her perch on her bed.

"Vincent, can you…I mean do you want to….I-," she sputtered, before just patting a space on the bed next to her. He would have refused had she not merely just been sitting on top of her sheets, her legs folded meditative-style. He grinned, kicked off his boots, and leapt onto the space next to her, laughing at the novelty of a goose-down mattress underneath him after having spent so many days sleeping in a tent or on a cot. He leaned up against the headboard to he could sit next to her; his legs splayed outward rather than be tucked in like hers were.

Catherine giggled at his gleeful expression. "You are probably one of the largest men I've men and yet you can make yourself so adorable." She smiled wistfully, "I bet you were the cutest little kid."

Vincent laughed. "Actually, JT was the cute one. My mother used to pinch his chubby little cheeks whenever he came over for supper. She nearly wept for joy when he moved in with us, I mean she was almost as happy about it as I was." He grinned despite himself.

"You love him, don't you?" She asked softly.

"Yeah, I guess I do. He's been the closest thing I've had to a brother ever since…" he trailed off, his smile melted off of his face.

"What? What is it?"

"He was orphaned in a house fire when he was just eight years old. My parents took him in and raised him as if he was their own. I'd always protect him from those mooks that hung around my village. They'd shove him around because he was always quieter than everyone else growing up. I scared those little shits off with just a _glimpse_ of the Beast." Catherine struggled to keep herself from laughing, to no avail. "What?" He demanded, smiling playfully.

"It's just," she sniggered, "I can't imagine the Beast at eight years old. Did you have little whiskers and a tail?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "JT laughed at me, too. Said I looked like a wolf cub." This did nothing to help her giggle fit.

"Oh my gods I haven't laughed in ages," Catherine tittered.

"It's a good look on you. You should laugh more often," he remarked honestly. She swatted his arm, the closest she'd come to acknowledging his compliment.

"Thank you for attempting take my mind off of all of this. I haven't had anyone take a real interest in the weight on my shoulders."

He smiled genially at her. "Of course. That's what partners do."

**Sorry about the awkward ending. I'm just watching the BATB rerun right now. **


	7. Restraint

**AN: At this point so far, Vincent and Catherine have become pretty quick friends. Sometimes, friends get into fights with each other. There will be a time jump of about a week between last chapter and this one. **

Over the course of two weeks that Catherine and Vincent had known each other, they'd killed half a dozen criminals on their almost nightly patrols. Sometimes, the princess let the Beast do the killing, but other times she insisted that she would be the one to wield her sword. They didn't speak very often on their patrols anymore: anything that either of them had to say could be put off to a later time. Vincent realized that he was becoming rather wary of the vigilante's cold, detached brand of justice.

During the daytime, Catherine still continued to sit silently and obediently next to her father at mealtimes. She never spoke up against any of His ludicrous ravings, nor did she protest at any of His harsh, heinous punishments He doled out at the weekly hearings He held in His throne room. After every encounter with her father, Vincent had scarcely taken a breath before she started ranting about the King. This Catherine was beginning to grate on his nerves.

"Why don't you just kill Him, then?" Vincent snapped in the privacy of her bedchambers, just after a hearing had gotten over with.

Catherine was bewildered at his outburst. "We've been over this, Vincent. I thought you understood."

He sighed in frustration and rubbed his temples. "I thought I did. But every day that passes brings me even more doubt. I feel as if there are two of you, one is meek and the other is cold. There is no fucking person in between and I'm being driven _insane _trying to figure out why."

"'Why' what?" She demanded.

"Why must you keep yourself split in two like this? Why must you rant about how much you want to kill the King, but come up with a flood of excuses not to?"

She clenched her jaw. "I dare you to stand where I stand. You have no way of fathoming the weight that rides upon my shoulders."

"It's easy for you to say," Vincent spat. "You were born into this. You didn't have to earn it."

"What is there for me to earn?" She cried, throwing her hands up in the air. "The King trades me to the highest bidder as one would trade a horse. The only reason I get the title of 'princess' is the fact that you cannot fuck a steed. I am no more than a high-priced whore to my father and Lord Marks. I will be Queen someday, but I will be so in title only, for I will be subservient to the husband of my father's choosing. I would rather toil in freedom than rule from this prison."

"You know, _princess_, I actually have toiled away in what you consider 'freedom'. I have starved and thirsted with the hot sun beating down upon my back on the battlefield. I have watched my brothers-in-arms be slain inches away from me. You say that you will experience hardship, but your future doesn't hold a candle to the misery your people are drowning in. Might I add that they continue to do so while you're sitting next to your father and twiddling your thumbs. Time is running out, Catherine, and I see no moves made on your part to rush forward."

She clenched her jaw. "Are you satisfied?"

He glared at her. "Only marginally."

"Well, in any case, I'm glad to know what you really think about me. By all means, brave sir Knight, _continue._" He stayed silent as the fury rose in her amber eyes. "No? You've known me for a little over a fortnight, and yet you have so much to say about how I should be doing things. How many people can you name that would follow me if I assassinated my father tomorrow?" Nothing. "How would you suggest that I take over a kingdom that lies in shambles? " She shook as she yelled at him.

Part of him was relieved that he had gotten out the doubts he had continued to harbor for her, even after they had become friends. The other part of him felt immensely guilty for placing the blame of the entire kingdom's misery upon the little woman standing in front of him. Neither was completely right or wrong, but both were willing to take their stance on the issue.

"Because I don't know, either," she added softly. "Goddamnit I don't know. I'm talking myself in circles, Vincent."

"Then let me in. Let me help you. Let Tess and Magnus help you. When you become Queen, you cannot stand alone."

She snorted. "According to you, I won't be standing alone. I'll have two halves of myself, one ruling meekly, and the other emotionlessly."

"Don't do that. Don't turn my own words on me," Vincent hissed. "If you keep throwing yourself a pity party because the pressure of your position is beginning to weigh on you, I can't be privy to it."

"Then _leave_," Catherine shouted. It was Vincent's turn to be taken aback. "Leave, for the love of the gods, if you hate me so much."

"I will never abandon my post," he replied coldly.

She clenched her jaw and nodded. "I guess neither of us can do what we should, can we? I cannot kill my father, and you cannot leave the princess you secretly resent. What a pair we make."

They didn't say much to each other for the rest of the day. Perhaps it was the doubts that they harbored against themselves that was driving a wedge between them. Both were equally masochistic in different respects. Three hours of silence between them -barring greetings to the people they met as the day went on- allowed Vincent to come to terms with what he had just accused her of. He was flooded with guilt for shaming her, basically calling her whiny and weak, and began to run through ways to apologize to her.

Catherine was also beginning to feel the withdrawal from being able to share secretive glances with him. She was also beginning to become rather infuriated by his sudden guilt-trip. How dare he shame her for putting walls up around herself? How dare he question her loyalty to her people when she was sacrificing so much to protect them? Why had he waited so long to tell her his doubts?

When night fell upon the castle- after a decidedly silent supper- they headed back up the staircase to her bedchambers. They hadn't said a word to each other for hours, the silence snaking in between them like a demonic, ethereal presence. The princess dressed into the vigilante's clothes as Vincent fetched his cloak.

When he came out of his room (the vigilante was fully dressed), Catherine shook her head at him. "I just need to be alone tonight, Vincent."

"I'm sorry about this morning," he sputtered, surprised at her rejection, "I didn't mean what I said-,"

She waved her hand to cut him off. "Yes you did. You meant every word. And I know you didn't mean to say it quite as brashly as you did, but you meant to say it. I just need to hunt alone tonight, that's all."

"But," he protested, "we always go together."

She nodded. "That's exactly why I just need my own company. We've been spending so much time together that we've been driving each other insane. Just go eat supper or catch up on your sleep tonight, alright?" Vincent grunted begrudgingly, but she glared at him. "If I see one hair of you watching over me in the valley, I'll throw another poisoned dagger at you, understand? I don't need any of your protective bullshit." Catherine strapped her swords across her back and tied the mask around her face. "I'll be back before sunrise," she said, refusing to meet his eyes as she skirted from her bedchambers.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Vincent used his night off to pay a visit to JT under the cover of darkness. He didn't use the elevator without Catherine by his side, and instead sprinted down the mountain exactly as he had the first night. As opposed to heading toward the village as he usually did, he ran down to the Army's camp. This place used to be the thing he could call home, but now it looked cold and alien. His comrades were mostly asleep, the lights inside of the men's canvas tents having been long extinguished.

JT was still awake: his last patient had just left the medical tent. He was cleaning up around the cot his patient had been sitting on when Vincent waltzed in.

"Brother," Vincent said to JT, who had just turned to see who it was.

"Brother," JT grinned and embraced Vincent with open arms. When he pulled back, he clapped Vincent on the shoulder before asking: "Where's her royal highness? Aren't you two supposed to be slicing through the scum of the village?"

Vincent shrugged. "She gave me the night off."

JT glared at him skeptically in the pale light of the hanging lanterns. "Something tells me that you pissed her off. What did you do?"

Vincent answered rather reluctantly. "I may or may not have called her whiny and slightly sociopathic."

The medic's face slackened in disbelief. "And you're still alive? She could have sliced you into steaks, man. Why the hell did you say that to her?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I guess I was just irritated by her reluctance to kill the King." JT's incredulous facial expression was beginning to grate upon his already frayed nerves. "What? You said the same thing to her the first time you met."

"Yes, you dolt, but I didn't call her whiny for putting it off as long as she has. I mean, for gods' sake the King is still her _father_. Regardless of how much she hates him, part of her will always be attached to Him. Why did you call her a sociopath?"

"She kills people without remorse," Vincent stated defensively, beginning to realize how completely childish he was acting.

JT threw his hands up in the air. "So do you, along with the rest of the King's Army. It's in your vocational description to be able to kill without remorse. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"She won't let me in, okay?" Vincent snapped. "I can't stand the fact that while we're friends, she keeps me at an arm's length. She's absolutely terrified of becoming Queen, but she can't stand just sitting by as her father crushes his people."

"Vincent," JT soothed his clearly distraught friend. "I know you think that you should be able to protect her, but in the end you'll just have you let her stand on her own. You can't be her guardsman forever. You have separate paths that you must follow, and I think that Catherine is the only one of you two that understands that. What?" JT demanded, seeing Vincent's forlorn expression. "You like her, don't you?"

Vincent balked. "We're friends."

JT shook his head with mock disappointment. "You _really_ like her. I mean, I can understand why. She's gorgeous, selfless, and has confidence pouring out from every pore."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "You know, you're starting to sound like _you_ like her."

He laughed. "She's not really what I'm looking for in a woman. But in all seriousness, Vincent, you have to understand that nothing can happen between you two."

Vincent shrugged. "I never said I wanted anything to happen between us. I'll protect her for however long I'm assigned to her, but after that I'm coming back to where I belong."

JT inclined his head. "You say that, but I can see a part of you that doesn't want to mean it. She'll destroy you if you let her hooks sink into you. She won't do it on purpose, but she will tear you apart eventually."

Vincent nodded, his jaw clenching. "I won't let her." But part of him knew that she was beginning to leech into him. He ached to be beside her whilst she ran over rooftops, but the other part was afraid. He feared that one part of her would consume the other, that she would become either the cold, calculating Vigilante, or the quiet, meek little Queen. Neither was fit to rule without the other. And it terrified him that he wouldn't be able to stand by her when she finally did pull herself together.

JT's face slackened. "I'm lost without you, you know that?" He said, clapping Vincent on the shoulder. "We haven't been apart for this long since, well, _ever._ It's hard being away from you."

Vincent smiled without it really reaching his eyes and embraced JT again. "I miss you, too, brother. I miss you, too." He pulled away. "I'll send a raven down every other day, alright? Let me know if anyone gets too rough when you're trying to treat them."

JT chuckled. "I know you'll just kill them outright, you barbarian." They didn't say goodbye to each other: each parting of ways was becoming increasingly difficult for the both of them. They had practically raised each other, and saying goodbye was like parting with a part of themselves.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

As Vincent snuck back into the castle, the predawn hours of the day began to strike blue into the black sky. The stillness of the night still lingered over the castle grounds, settling like a tangible, gossamer weight over the mountain. The winter's stronghold seemed to weaken as the promise of the coming spring danced lightly over the dew embedded in the porous limestone. Perhaps it was the fact that Catherine was not by his side, or perhaps he was just feeling out of sorts, but the kingdom seemed lonelier now than it ever had before.

He crept through the silent, desolate hallways before a woman's scream graced his ears. He probably wouldn't have heard it had he not been who he was, as it emanated from somewhere in the basement. For one, horrible moment, he thought it was Catherine, before realizing that Catherine's voice was much more mature than the one he heard. In a flash, he had zoomed down a flight of stairs and wrenched the door open on the same wine cellar that Catherine usually came upstairs through.

Catherine _was _there, but she still had her vigilante's mask on as she exchanged blows with the man Vincent recognized to be Duchess Heather's personal guardsman. The Duchess' guard certainly fought like a knight, but he was no match for the enraged vigilante. She ducked under his swinging punches and delivered several quick jabs to his torso and throat. He went down like a sack of flour, crumbling onto his knees whilst holding his throat.

Duchess Heather was backed up against the stacks of wine barrels, tears streaming down her cheeks as her eyes widened in fear. None of them seemed particularly interested in Vincent's presence as he stood in the doorway until he shouted at the vigilante.

"Stop!" Vincent barked as Catherine lifted her mask and let her hood fall. She paid him no mind as Heather gasped in disbelief behind her.

The fury stirring in Catherine's eyes was much more different than the usual, detached expression of the vigilante. She exuded power, her amber eyes almost glowing in the light from the torches upon the wall. "You tried to rape my sister," she hissed, standing over him like the proverbial Power That Be. "Heather, has he ever tried to hurt you before?" The princess asked her sister without turning around.

"N-no," the duchess responded, her voice quivering in terror.

Catherine smirked humorlessly. "Good for you, knight. This is only your first offense."

"Does that mean you'll show me mercy?" The guardsman croaked out.

Catherine knelt so that she could bring her eyes level to the man's, voice shaking with rage. "I will show you mercy by killing you swiftly. No one touches my sister and lives to tell the tale, do you understand?" She reached out grasp his chin with one hand and cupped the back of his head with the other. She trembled as she said to him: "I hope you are tortured for eons in Hell," and snapped his neck. Heather shrieked as Catherine backed away from her sister's would-be rapist, tears welling up in her wide eyes.

"Heather, I'm so sorry," Catherine cried as she went over to her sister, not wanting to touch the trembling Heather for fear of rejection. The princess had just revealed herself to be the vigilante only minutes before, and she braced herself for her sister's tirade. She was surprised when Heather rose only to collapse again in her sister's arms, the skirt of her dress torn to reveal her bruised thighs.

Heather buried her face in the vigilante's leather vest, and clung to the black cloak Catherine had wrapped around her. Catherine smiled through her tears and kissed her little sister's hair. Vincent felt oddly vulnerable to see her cry like this, so open yet so strong at the same time.

"Vincent," Catherine said to him through the veil of her tears, "can you-?" She glanced towards the guardsman's body.

Vincent nodded, but as he entered the room, Heather instinctually cringed away from him, and caused him to freeze for fear of startling her. "No, it's okay. Not everyone man is like that, honey," Catherine soothed the shaking Heather. "It's only a bad few, and I assure you that Vincent is not one of them."

"S-sorry," Heather mumbled in Vincent's direction.

"Nothing to be apologizing for, m'lady," Vincent replied gently, not coming an inch closer to her as he approached her attacker's corpse. Catherine nodded towards him as she led her distraught little sister from the room, her swords and knives still ironically strapped to her person. The one thing she was missing, Vincent noticed as he threw the guardsman's corpse over his shoulder, was her discarded lion's mask. He grabbed that as well before shutting the cellar door behind him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

An hour later (after having thrown the dead would-be rapist's body over the side of the castle wall onto the sharp rocks below), Vincent returned to the princess' bedchambers. The sun still had not yet risen but the sky continued to lighten over the horizon. Catherine sat in her nightgown upon her bed, her eyes rimmed with red from crying. Her knuckles, stretched as her fingers clenched her knees, which were drawn to her chest, were inflamed and swollen. She stared off into space and didn't look up at Vincent as he entered the room.

He placed her discarded mask at the foot of the bed and clambered up to sit next to her. Vincent didn't dare touch her, but he didn't feel the need to anyway.

"I was so afraid," she told him in a monotone, as if she were telling him from far away, "I was afraid of myself down in that cellar. The things I wanted to do to that piece of filth…I cannot begin to fathom how I imagined so many elaborate methods of torture in such a small amount of time. I didn't want to kill him, you see. I wanted to tie him to the back of a horse and run him all around the kingdom so _everyone _knew what he had attempted to do to my sister. And if that makes me just as demonic as he, that so be it."

Vincent looked at her. "You're angry."

"I'm beyond that," she scoffed. "I accept your apology, by the way. I know you're desperate to be free of the King, but His time will come. I'm waiting for the perfect moment, and I can _feel_ it galloping towards me. I feel the tremors through every cobblestone I walk upon and every gust of air I take in. Heather says she will support me. I know that Magnus and Tess will stand by me." Catherine turned to look at him. "When the time comes, will you fight alongside me as well? Even if you are not my guardsman?"

Vincent hesitated. "I visited JT this evening, Catherine. As much as I value your friendship-,"

"He's your brother," Catherine finished, disappointment evident upon her face. "I understand."

He pried her fingers from their clasped place upon her knees. "Catherine, JT went on and on about how I can't get close to you. Because regardless of how much we revel in each other's company behind these doors, we can never be more than guardsman and his charge."

She nodded sadly, not letting herself cry in front of him again. "I don't want to break your heart, Vincent."

He shook his head. "You don't understand: It would be an honor to have my heart broken by you. I'll fight alongside you as long as you need me."

"What if I stop needing you?"

Vincent released her hands. "Then I'll ride off into the sunset."

"And what if I say that I'll never stop needing you? What if I can't function without my guardsman?"

"Then I will be your guardsman for eternity," he answered rather decidedly. "Letting me in does not mean that you're letting your strength out, Catherine. The strongest I've seen you was tonight, when you restrained yourself in order to comfort your sister."

"I barely restrained myself," she snorted.

"Yes, well, we're going to have to work on that. Together," he extended his hand for her to shake. Instead of taking his hand, she smacked him upside his head. "Ow," he snapped, rubbing the back of his head, "What the hell was that for?"

"Yesterday morning," she stated primly before shoving him off of the bed with a playful grin dancing across her face. "Go get some sleep, will you? I have a feeling we have a long day ahead of us." He couldn't contain his own smile as he complied with her wishes and flung himself upon his cot for a couple hours of sleep.

**Sorry about the wait! And no, this will not be the last time they will fight. **


	8. Pride

**AN: *Squeals* I LOVE YOU GUYS! You're so sweet and I CANNOT EVEN. **

During the scarce hours of the morning, Vincent had that same dream he'd been having for almost an entire fortnight. As the flames and waves wove themselves over the castle walls to encompass the meek Queen and the ruthless Vigilante, Vincent was helpless to only watch. The screams of both Catherines perforated the air: the Vigilante sounding more animal than human as she was drowned, the Queen shrilly shrieking as she was incinerated.

This dream became more painful every time Vincent relived it: perhaps due to the fact that his helplessness became more prominent or due to the fact that he became closer to the real Catherine each passing day. It didn't matter that was merely a dream, because the agony _he_ felt watching her drown and burn simultaneously was choking the oblivion out of him.

He was oddly relieved when the dream changed. Something shifted in the ethereal atmosphere of his unconscious mind as the waves and flames receded back down the mountain, away from their victims. Instead of continuing to watch from his omniscient view, he was flung onto the castle wall to land beside the remnants of the previous Catherines.

To his surprise, there were not two corpses staring accusingly up at him. Instead, he had been settled next to one, unharmed Catherine who kneeled in a crouch. Her head was bowed, her black hair flowing over her shoulders to shine in the sun, which he hadn't noticed was there before. She wore neither the Vigilante's black cloak nor the Queen's cumbersome emerald dress: her cape was of the brightest amber, glinting like a crown as it fluttered in the soft spring breeze. The insignia of a roaring lion was embroidered upon her back. She wore a white, long-sleeved tunic and brown trousers underneath her rather ostentatious cloak.

Vincent gasped in disbelief as she raised her head to look at him. Her eyes were traced with a dark outline of kohl, made to resemble the eyes of a regal feline. She was as beautiful as she had been when she had first revealed her identity and as she had been saving her sister.

"_And now, Vincent?"_ She asked him, a kind, teasing smile gracing her beautiful lips. "_Am I now not the Queen my people deserve?"_ Her voice was low and soft, caressing his soul as she spoke to him.

"_Not a Queen, Catherine,_" he breathed. "_You are a Goddess_." She laughed, probably the most beautiful sound to grace his existence.

_"Vincent_," she said. He was confused, because her lips hadn't moved when she said his name.

"_VINCENT_," she shouted. He felt a sudden, dull pain wrench him away from the dream-Goddess. He wrenched his eyes open to see the real Catherine towering over him from his place on his cot. In her hand was a rolled piece of parchment.

"Gods, you didn't have to hit me," Vincent growled as he sat up, rubbing the now-tender spot on his head.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "You sleep heavier than a hibernating mountain troll, you know that? Anyway, I just received a letter from one of my informants from a village ten miles east of here. I think you'll want to know what it says. Get dressed, will you?"

He begrudgingly did as he was told, still slightly groggy from the minimal sleep he'd been getting the past couple of nights. When he came into her bedchambers, she was already dressed. Her hair, as always, was pleated into that same dark braid as opposed to the black waves flowing past her shoulders as it had been in his dream. She was still as beautiful as she always was, but the perfect meld of power and kindness he'd seen in his dream was gone.

"What?" she demanded, "What are you staring at?"

He was rather taken aback, "I- n-nothing. I'm not looking at anything. What was it that you wanted to show me?"

Catherine held up the scroll she'd been brandishing earlier. "My informant sent me this last night, but I did not receive it until this morning. It appears as if some of the rebels in his village decided to break away from the more mainstream Rebellion and form a new sect. Their members only consist of the rebel sympathizers in his village, but the problem is the fact that they live perhaps only ten miles east of the castle mountain."

"There's a rebel force coming for us? How much time do we have?" Vincent asked, suddenly terrified at their sudden predicament.

Catherine exhaled slowly. "Two… perhaps three days."

"Did your informant say how many men there would be?"

"Somewhere around one hundred. That's what terrifies me so much: they're not coming for the castle. The rebels believe that destroying the village in the valley would demonstrate to the King that he is no longer safe. I can protect my people against a dozen, but a _hundred? _Even with you by my side, we'll be overwhelmed in minutes."

Vincent nodded. "We'll have to convince the Army to patrol the village for the next couple of days."

She shook her head. "They won't do such a thing without orders from on high. Either a direct decree from the King or from Captain Bishop would be necessary to convince them."

"They'll follow the vigilante," Vincent murmured pointedly.

"I killed Darius Bishop, remember? There is no way that the Captain would allow his men to follow the vigilante."

Vincent snorted. "The Army's ultimate allegiance belongs to the _people_, not the King and Captain Bishop. The men will follow you, even if you speak with a woman's voice from beneath your mask."

Catherine rubbed her forehead. "I've never spoken in front of crowds before. That means that they won't be able to recognize my voice, but it also means that I have no idea how to inspire soldiers to risk their lives for me."

He laughed and clapped her on the back. "You managed to convince me, didn't you? We'll wait for nightfall before we go down to the Army's camp, alright?" She smiled weakly in agreement, but he could hear how nervously her heart was pounding. They spent the rest of the day hashing out the details of what they would embark upon that night.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dusk fell like a dark curtain dropped over the kingdom. The stars twinkled intermittently behind the gossamer clouds, which drifted aimlessly upon the winter's breeze. The moon shone its ghostly glow upon the thatched roofs and the canvas tents below the castle mountain. Laughter and voices trickled through the air from the Army's camp into Vincent's ears. Though he could discern no distinct voices from the jumbled melee of the campfires between the tents, he could pick up murmurs of rebellion here and there from drunken ramblings.

He and Catherine stood upon a cliff some thirty feet above the King's Army tent city, and were surveying for the most strategic point to make an entrance. The tent city was laid out like a halved bullseye target: a semicircle stemming from JT's medical tent at the mouth of the camp, with the larger tents surrounding it. The larger tents were usually meeting places for certain battalions or for discussions between the lieutenants and the Captain. The tents after that spread out eastward, getting progressively smaller as it went on.

Perhaps a dozen campfires were crackling merrily sporadically throughout the smaller tents, with eight or nine men squeezing themselves atop logs to fit around them. Some one hundred men lived in the camp. In order to protect the village from the impending rebel attack, Catherine would have to convince all one hundred of them.

Vincent looked at her sideways from underneath his hood, his human face providing her with some semblance of comfort. "You ready?"

She nodded, her mask hiding most of her unease. "Let's go." Vincent wrapped an arm around her and lifted her from her feet as he stepped over the cliff. They landed together rather clumsily but both were unharmed. He led her through the side of the camp she had never seen before, because she'd only ever been to the medical tent on the westernmost side of the camp.

She fought back a squeak of surprise as Vincent suddenly picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, just as a farmer would carry a sack of flour. Catherine went limp just as they came upon a group of dozen men circled around a campfire, chortling and chattering in the warmth of the fire. They fell silent as they recognized Vincent.

"Knight Keller? What brings you back here? I thought the Captain forbade you from returning without the vigilante," remarked one of them. Catherine couldn't see anything from her position, and ended up focusing on the fact that the straps to her swords were beginning to dig into her breasts as she hung over his shoulders.

Vincent slapped the back of her thighs. "I've got the little minx right here, don't I?"

"'Minx'? As in, a girl?" Another asked. Catherine could hear them rise from their places around the fire, their drinks presumably being left for another time.

"I always wondered how the vigilante could run atop rooftops like she did in the stories," said a third, "I thought they were just exaggerations. My, she is a _tiny_ little thing, isn't she? Are you sure she's the vigilante?"

Catherine could feel Vincent nod. "She knocked me around for a little bit before I managed to wrangle her. Like a disobedient stallion, this one." She smiled despite herself against his back, thankful for the fact that none of them could see her face or her mask.

"We've got to tell the Captain. OI, JOE!" The first one yelled before Vincent could stop him. "Captain! Knight Keller's got a present for you! Isn't that right, Vince?" Vincent feigned laughter to go along with the rest of the men as more roused soldiers trotted over to see what the ruckus was about. Catherine felt Vincent start walking west, towards the clearing near the Captain's tent. They had gone over the plan well enough to know that the best chance of convincing everyone at once would be there, where every soldier would be able to squeeze in.

The chattering of men's voices illustrated the procession of drunken and bleary knights ambling behind Vincent and the vigilante. Perhaps a hundred men had already begun to file in to see the icon the all secretly wished _hadn't _been caught. Catherine was counting upon their allegiance and sympathies to the vigilante's actions in order to sway them to her cause.

"Hey, she's wakin' up!" One of the men behind her yelled as she 'awoke'. She feigned disorientation for a moment or two before 'hitting' Vincent square between the shoulder blades. He let out a fake yell before dropping her onto her feet, which allowed her to take off into a dead sprint towards the clearing.

"Get her!" Vincent yelled to his excited comrades, giving chase to the vigilante and ushering for his companions to follow. The hundred men that had been filtering in behind him rather groggily were suddenly turned into the sharp, cunning soldiers they'd been trained to be. Catherine had to pump her arms and dig in her heels to be able to keep far enough ahead of the gathering mob until she could make it to the clearing near the Captain's tent.

The Captain had obviously been roused by the commotion, and was just emerging from his tent as he spotted whom he assumed to be the vigilante running towards him, followed by just about every single one of his men.

"What in the name of the gods?" He demanded, before seeming to understand that his brother's killer was running towards him. "_You,_" he hissed menacingly. To his confusion, the vigilante did not run past him, and instead stopped in the clearing to jump onto the Captain's speaking platform. A wave of men followed after, filling the gathering area up as if they were about to receive orders.

They all seemed to be confused by the presence of their Captain. They all stared at him, waiting for an order, whilst he was waiting for the vigilante's next move.

The vigilante put her hands in the air as a sign of surrender, a rather ironic gesture considering the fact that she was quite literally standing upon a pedestal above them. The clearing was rather poorly lit: only a ring of torches and the glow of the moon was what allowed for the men to see what was happening. From beneath her mask, the vigilante surveyed the crowd with the flecks of amber hidden between the eye holes in the lion's face.

"I am not here to fight you," she stated calmly, her strong voice resonating throughout the gathering area. "I am here to ask for your assistance."

"Why would we assist you?" The Captain called. "You killed my brother."

She let her hands fall to her sides as she regarded him. "Your brother murdered a prostitute in cold blood."

Joe sauntered forward into the crowd of his men, who parted to allow him to pass. "You're enemy of the Crown. You should be killed upon the spot."

Catherine returned his glare with a cool stare. "And yet you have not given orders for your men to do so, because part of you understands that I am not a threat to the innocent, like the King is." She raised her eyes to the rest of the crowd. "Though I am usually sympathetic to the rebels, a particularly savage faction of the rebellion has set its sights upon the city I protect, and I cannot abide whilst those under my protection are threatened. I cannot protect my people from these men alone."

"And so what are you asking of us?" piped up a soldier from the center of the throng. Catherine and Vincent were relieved that the soldiers were at least willing to listen to what she had to say. This was probably due to the fact that most of the men in the King's Army were sympathetic to the vigilante.

"I am asking for you to patrol the city and the area surrounding it," she answered. "Perhaps one hundred rebel men will be seeking the blood of the city's inhabitants, so I would need just as many of you to stand by me."

"No," the Captain spat. "The only reason that I have not ordered my men to kill you is the fact that you would probably kill them all instead. Just because I have shown you such mercy does not mean that I am giving my men over to you."

"I'm not asking for a private army, Captain. I'm asking for help to protect my people," Catherine retorted.

"_Your_ people?" Joe advanced forward again so that he was standing right in front of where he usually stood upon the platform and was craning his neck up at her. "You have no claim to the people here in this valley. The only person who has any right to them is the King and the King alone."

"They are not _property_," Catherine retorted angrily before collecting herself and broke eye contact with the indignant Captain. "Tomorrow night is the night the rebels are expected to strike. They seek only destruction. Those truly loyal to this kingdom will fight with me. Those only loyal to the King may sleep comfortably knowing that their tyrant is being protected. It is your choice." With that, she jumped from the Captain's platform and unsheathed one of her swords in the same moment.

"Anyone who tries to kill me or capture me will be sliced into slivers," she threatened darkly as the men separated to create a path for her way out. She snaked her way through the crowd and spotted Vincent sneaking his way through as well. No one made any movement to grab her, probably because none of them actually wanted the vigilante to be captured.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

When Catherine and Vincent finally got back into her chambers, Vincent stopped her and pulled her into a hug.

"You did it," he said, laughing in exhilaration.

"How can you be so sure?" she asked as she disentangled herself from his arms.

"I've stayed with those men for years. I've fought next to them, even when their hearts were not into the fight. But you, princess…They will follow you. You just need to prepare yourself to lead."

Catherine sighed. "We need a battle plan, Vincent. We can't go in there blindly waving our swords like precocious little children."

Vincent nodded. "Do you have parchment and charcoal?" She pulled a roll of parchment and a charcoal writing stick from a drawer in her armoire. He took them from her and laid the parchment flat upon the bed. She understood what he was doing as he drew a rough sketch of the city and valley area from an aerial view. He drew the mountains surrounding them, as well as the road leading from the east, which would be the presumable route of attack for the rebels.

"The rebels will come from the east, but circumnavigate the Army's station under the cover of darkness. They would have to do so rather discreetly, so my guess would be that they will not be riding horses or be travelling with any heavy weaponry."

Catherine furrowed her brow. "They'd have to go around the northern side of the castle to avoid the Army's encampment. We should have at least thirty archers stationed upon the cliffs to thin out their ranks as they move towards the city."

"Do you have a guess for the rebels' intentions?" he asked.

She shrugged. "There are rumors flying about that the city, because of its proximity to the King, is constantly showered with wealth and its inhabitants are favored above all else. Of course, the rebels will discover otherwise once they enter the city, but I think they'll just continue with their mission as planned anyway. That's why we need the majority of troops protecting the city instead of fortifying a stronghold on the eastern road."

Vincent rubbed his jaw worryingly. "If we'd had more advanced warning, I would have suggested evacuating the women and children."

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "Because women are so helpless."

He raised his hands defensively. "I mean I would have suggested evacuating all who cannot fight. If we are pushed back into the city, I'm afraid civilians will get caught in the fighting."

"If I must, I will stop fighting in order to get the helpless out of the valley to stay in the foothills. But I cannot do that if I'm pinned down. We need to have two levels of reinforcement in the eastern rings of the city. _Here_, at the tenements, and _here_ at the markets," she indicated both upon Vincent's crude rendering of the village.

"Should we have more archers stationed upon the rooftops?"

"No, that would provide for a larger margin for error. That could prove costly if civilians are involved." Her expression darkened slightly as she delved deeper into her own thoughts.

"What?" he inquired, rather concerned by her sudden silence.

"If I fall, you will not stop fighting, do you understand?" Catherine bore her eyes into his as she folded her arms even tighter across her chest. "If I'm captured, I'll find a way to get out, but you _must_ continue to protect the civilians."

"Only if you promise to do the same if I were to be taken out," he responded. "Neither of us will go through with it, you know that don't you?"

She smirked mirthlessly. "I'd fight off the entire force single-handedly just to avenge you."

"That kind of attitude will get you killed."

"Does it make me a bad person if I say that I don't care?"

**Sorry about the long wait. But you're going to get a big battle next chapter!**


	9. All is Fair

**AN: Bring on the battle! This chapter is going to get a little confusing and gory, so I apologize in advance! **

As Catherine wound the leather wraps around her wrists and palms, she began to contemplate the task she was preparing to embark upon. She would have to detach herself yet again from the prospect of taking lives in the name of the greater good. She would also have to be able to give orders under duress, possibly while her life was in peril. Every single thing that could go wrong zoomed through head, like the proverbial demons of self-doubt.

The only person who kept her grounded was Vincent: the thought of him fighting by her side gave her a renewed sense of hope. Part of her didn't want to admit it, but she felt safer with him around to protect her. This unnerved her because she had spent a number of years putting up walls and becoming strong so she _wouldn't_ need protecting. The way he looked at her, with the same amount of concern and respect that she held for him, she was imbued with a rush of strength.

But no amount of exchanged glances and promises between them would keep them alive as they faced against the rebel faction that night. No amount of faith for neither their respective gods, nor the lucky charms they placed upon their person would guard against poisoned arrows. No amount of well-wishes would turn harsh swings of the swords into glancing blows. If they were to break their concentration for even a moment, they would be killed.

"Are you ready?" Vincent asked, pulling the cinches on his armor tight one last time before they set off. The many dents and scratches upon the dull silver plates marked how many times he had been attacked, and had lived to fight again.

"I still don't understand why you insist upon wearing the armor. It's heavy and cumbersome," Catherine remarked, barely masking her shaking voice in the snark.

Vincent clapped himself upon his chest with a hearty clang. "The thing that separates my brothers and I from those savages is our uniformity. If we have no evidence of our common bond, how will we know who to kill and who not to kill in the heat of battle?" She clenched her jaw, something he noticed. "What's wrong?"

"I-," she began to say something but her voice cracked. She swallowed her nervousness before stating in a colder voice: "You can't disobey me when we're down there. Vincent, our friendship is useless if one of us is killed disobeying the other. You _must _do as I say. Even if it doesn't make sense. Even if it means certain death for me. You _will_ follow my orders."

Vincent's cocky grin slid off of his face until his features hardened into the stony expression of a soldier. "Yes, Catherine." He sheathed his sword just as she pulled the lion's mask around her hood. This could possibly have been the last time they would ever be able to be in each other's company, but neither took advantage of their situation as they descended down through the castle and the inner workings of the mountain.

The freshness of the dusk was like a snapped twig in the atmosphere outside of the castle: sudden, abrupt, and anxiety-ridden. It was as if the villagers had been preparing for death the entire day, resigned to accept the end to their meager existences. They lived in a universe that seemed devoted to both creating new life and destroying old ones, and it seemed to them that their times had come. Little did they know that they would be fought for with tooth and nail by those they deemed their superiors.

Rain leaked steady from their holds in the heavens, trickling down to earth with a roar in its collective form. Thunder crashed as lightning wove and tangled itself between the black clouds, which hung ominously over the valley like molten rock. The storm above churned and danced upon the howling wind, screeching like the proverbial hounds of hell as the fronts collided to create this maelstrom.

The lions mask kept most of the rain from blinding Catherine as she took off in the direction of the rendezvous point she had described in the letter she'd sent earlier that day. Vincent followed behind her, much to her irritation, with his armor clanging rather conspicuously in the night. She didn't say anything about it, not wanting to spoil their luck by starting banter.

Much to her horror, there were only about thirty men waiting for her in the clearing a couple hundred yards away from the Army's camp. Everyone had been suited up, ready for a battle Catherine was now sure that they would lose.

"I thought you said that the Army would follow me," she yelled over her shoulder at Vincent as the approached the clearing.

"I thought they would," he replied, just as mystified as she was at the diminished ranks of the men they had been counting on. "Donovan!" Vincent called once they entered the clearing. An average-sized knight turned at the mention of his name and jogged over to them.

"Knight Keller, sir," Donovan answered with a salute.

"Where the hell is everyone? We planned for the support of one hundred men," Vincent demanded in a hushed tone, trying as hard as he could from sounding ungrateful.

"It's Captain Bishop, sir. He threatened to report any knight who joined the vigilante to the King Himself. The men with families left stayed behind."

"God _damn_ it, Joe," Vincent swore. "God _fucking_ damn it."

Catherine sighed heavily. "We'll have to relegate more men to guarding the road and shooting down from the cliffs. We don't have enough people to protect the village."

Vincent shook his head. "We won't be able to hold the rebels for long enough. We need to protect the village."

"Vigilante? Miss?" asked another knight who noticed that they had arrived. All the other soldiers milled about aimlessly, just waiting for the call to arms from the vigilante.

"Yes, soldier, what is it?"

"We have but three archers among us. The rest of us are infantrymen."

Catherine swore again. She climbed atop one of the boulders which stemmed from the rocky outcroppings of the mountain. "Listen up! I need to know how many of you are master swordsmen. And I need an _honest _answer." Perhaps five men raised their hands.

"You five! Shed whatever armor you deem unnecessary, you understand? You'll take point with me. We'll need faster fighters at the front of the formation. Where are the archers?" They raised their hands from their place in the back of the throng. "You'll be taking the high ground above the northern road. If need be, you'll fall back to protect the village on the rooftops. The rest of you will follow Knight Keller's orders. Any questions?"

To her surprise, the men didn't say anything, and instead saluted her. Though they were missing half of their number, these men were certainly a sight to be seen as they mutedly swore their loyalty to the vigilante. Their armor gleamed proudly in the flashes of lightning as thunder crashed and the winds howled around them. Battle ready, indeed.

Catherine raised her chin as she regarded the men who had put their lives in her charge. "Let's get on with it, shall we?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

An hour later, the rain torn road wrapped around the northern face of the castle's mountain was being tread upon by almost one hundred rebel men. Their armor was of thatched reeds, grass, and even leather, giving them less protection than the metal armor would, but provided them with better mobility. The cliffs and the rocky outcroppings hung like an overpass over the left side of the road and the forest on the other side was the perfect opportunity for an ambush.

Catherine clutched the handles of two of the poisoned daggers strapped to her thighs, staying wary of the five expert swordsmen behind her. She stood, hidden by the darkness in the embrace of the shadows. As the first row of men appeared in her line of sight, she let her daggers fly. Only seconds after that, a small barrage of arrows flung themselves from the cliffs above onto the road. Everything hit its target.

Perhaps half a dozen rebels were dead before the road erupted into chaos.

Normally, Catherine had to worry about civilians in her blades' path, but here _everyone_ was her target. She ducked under flying swords, spears, pitchforks, and knives to sink her blades into the flesh of her enemies. Heads went flying as screams tore themselves from bloody throats to pierce the night. The swordsmen behind her had flanked outward to move farther down the road, so she was almost completely on her own. She kicked off of a man she had killed so quickly he hadn't fallen over yet, and arced in a backwards somersault over an incoming spearman.

Some thirty men were advancing upon her, crying out with the fury of a banshee as they extended their weapons towards her small frame. Out of nowhere, a dozen armored knights descended upon the rebels, cutting them down with the element of surprise. Once the Army men's element of surprise was lost, they didn't have the same ability to flip away from the swinging blades of their enemies as Catherine did. Their armor restricted their movements so much that the only lightly-armored rebels could easily duck under their heavy swings.

The Army men began to fall just as quickly under the rebels' blades just as fast as the rebels fell under Catherine's blades. Arrows continued to rain down sporadically from the cliffs above, only sometimes able to pick off a rebel soldier, other times sinking aimlessly into the sodden earth. Catherine and the five swordsmen she'd handpicked were the only people making a dent in the rebel forces. Though the Army's master swordsmen did not fight with the same two-sworded style that Catherine fought with, they were certainly a force to be reckoned with.

Even with her skills and impressive stamina, Catherine was beginning to tire. Her movements began to slow ever so slightly, just enough for some of the spears and swords to graze her skin. She began to feel cuts stripe themselves up and down her blocking arm. Her defenses faltered for a fraction of a second, long enough for a rebel to throw himself at her exposed back.

He never made contact. With a roar, Vincent had intercepted the tackle by slamming himself through the throng of men surrounding Catherine. She shot Vincent a grateful nod from beneath her mask and pressed her back to Vincent's just as his face transformed into the veiny, gruesome visage of the Beast. Most of his armor had been discarded for the sake of mobility, so he had to be extra careful to avoid the blades as he fought off the rebels with his bare hands.

Catherine and Vincent fought back-to-back, not knowing if the rest of their men were alive, not knowing if any reinforcements would come. They were fighting for their lives, but for some reason they _loved _it. The vigilante's blades sliced with an even more intense fervor as the Beast ripped apart his enemies with the same effort one would use to tear a loaf of bread at supper. They complimented each other perfectly, shifting to the side so the other could throw a blow at a rebel on their backs.

Here was where they let their inner demons run rampant. The evil parts of themselves (which they normally locked deep down inside to keep hidden from those they loved) laughed darkly with excitement as they tore through their enemies. There was something so primal about this, as if this type of survival ran through their veins from their ancestral warriors several generations over.

Even so, the physical toll was beginning to creep up on them. The rebels just kept on coming. They'd only managed to kill thirty of them in the twenty minutes they'd been fighting for, and most of the Army infantrymen had been killed. The swordsmen had killed off another twenty, but Catherine knew they wouldn't last much longer.

"There's too many," Catherine yelled as she batted aside a spear to disembowel the man brandishing it. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted some twenty rebels sneaking off towards the city. She was helpless to go after them in her current situation, but she also saw some of the master swordsmen sprint after them.

"I'll throw you over," Vincent hissed through his teeth, "I'll be right behind you." After she nodded, Vincent took ahold of her waist and threw her over the throng of rebel men. She somersaulted over them, trying to gain enough momentum to carry herself over them. She hit the ground running, pumping her arms with her swords still grasped tightly in her hands. She slashed at some of the rebel men she passed, but Catherine's ultimate goal was to get to the village before the rebels did.

To her relief, she heard the unmistakable footfalls of the Beast right behind her. Some half a dozen rebels were still ahead of them, so Vincent yelled, "Get on my back!"

Without breaking her stride, she did as she was told. He ran full speed towards the village, much faster for the rebel men to detect. The village had awoken by the sounds of the commotion only hundreds of yards east of them. Women and children peered from behind canvas flaps and open-air windows. Something closely resembling relief passed over their features as they spotted the Vigilante, their silent protector, riding towards them on the back of a Beast.

Vincent let her go the second they entered the village, not wanting to frighten the city's inhabitants with his rather monstrous visage. Instead, he stood guard at her back so she could rush forth to talk to her people.

"People!" Catherine yelled, running between as many houses as she could, shaking tents and beating upon doors. "People, we haven't much time! Rebels are invading the city. Get out while you can!"

The villagers began to flood into the mud paths between their dwellings. One woman held on to her two twin toddlers, who cowered in fear of the Vigilante's still-drawn swords. "Are you not going to protect us?" she demanded, oblivious to the chaos that the eastern side of the village was erupting into.

Catherine shook her head and raised her voice to answer. "I cannot fight them all. That's why I need as many of you that are physically able to flee to the western side of the village, and then out into the foothills."

"M'lady!" Vincent yelled, "They're coming for us. Another fifty, at least."

Catherine's heart pounded mercilessly inside of her chest. "Grab your children and go! Forget about your homes, just run!"

The chaos that ensued would be something the princess would never be able to forget. Men and women yelled for their children as lightning sparked sporadically between the clouds. Muddy puddles splashed over petticoats and trouser legs as the villagers sprinted away from their homes. Had anyone other than the vigilante asked them to abandon their homes like this, they wouldn't have paid them a second thought. But because the vigilante had been protecting them for as long as she had been, they followed her orders without hesitation.

Catherine cast a helpless glance backwards at the oncoming rebels. They were perhaps two hundred yards away when she said to Vincent: "I have to evacuate the village. But I cannot do that with rebels on my tail. I need you to stay and fight, do you understand?"

"What if I can't hold them back? What if you get killed?"

"We will meet back at the castle. Do _not _come after me," she spat, the urgency of their situation was not lost on her.

Before she was about to run off through the center of the village to help evacuate, Vincent grabbed her arm. "I will fight off the entire rebel army so I can return to you, m'lady." He released her arm and turned to face the fifty rebels sprinting towards him. The last thing Catherine saw before racing off was the Beast flinging himself into the throng of soldiers, roaring with glee.

The vigilante raced over rooftops next to the crowd of fleeing villagers, directing their traffic through her orders. She stopped every so often in different sections of the city as they headed west, banging upon doors and shouting from rooftops.

"You'll return to your homes when it's safe!" She yelled to a stubborn family who refused to budge from their decrepit shanty. "But you must leave for tonight. Please, I am begging you, for the sake of your children _leave_." She didn't dare look backwards towards the east, for fear that she would see the rebels trampling the dead body of the Beast as they flooded into the city.

Some three hundred villagers were now fleeing under her direction. Mothers and fathers held their crying children tightly as the rain beat down upon them in relentless droves. The streets were slick with mud, causing concern for those who slipped in the puddles that they could have been trampled by the stampeding refugees. The night air was thick with fear and uncertainty as Catherine ran onward.

Suddenly, she heard a scream from one of the women in the back of the group. Catherine turned only to see, with a sinking sensation in her gut, a dozen rebel men who had broken past Vincent to invade the city. She sprinted back east over rooftops to meet them, her swords unsheathed in preparation to taste the blood of those who dared threaten those under her protection.

She flipped off of the rooftop to land in a crouch in front of the men, who had stopped at the sight of the masked vigilante who had slain many of their fellow soldiers. The villagers ran on behind her, certain that their savior would protect them once again. The fact that she was completely and utterly without support was rather unnerving. Vincent was surely dead, for he would never have allowed those men to run past him as long as a breath remained in his body.

"He's dead," she hissed with rage through her mask. The pain of her loss made her let out an animalistic roar before she launched herself at the rebels. The splash of blood upon her blades quelled only a small amount of the fire snarling and crackling like an angry demon inside of her heart. Any time any one of them tried sneaking past her to get after the villagers, she was able to slay them without breaking her tempo.

Normally when she killed, she was able to detach herself from her victims, even if she was killing them _because _she was angry. The act of killing required no emotion, no doubts or hesitations. She'd never been so furious, so distraught…so broken. She killed them just as a mother would kill the murderer of her cubs. She had nothing left to lose now that Vincent was gone. She screamed like a banshee, like a madwoman (perhaps because she was mad in the first place), as she slashed her way through the dozen men.

When the last man fell, she stood in the center of the pile of her victims. Catherine wouldn't allow herself to cry, though some part of her knew she wouldn't be able to in the first place. She was in shock. The silence of the village was overwhelming, save for the distant yells of the still-fleeing villagers. The rain poured down to wash the blood from the blades of her swords as the lightning illuminated the metal with an effervescent glow.

Instead of running after the villagers, Catherine walked back east towards the mouth of the city where she had last seen Vincent. Her blades hung uselessly in her hands as she walked along empty-eyed through the muddy streets. The storm waged on even though the battle was now over.

A part of her knew that she should have gone after the villagers to tell them that it was alright to return to their homes, but she knew that they would return the next day after they saw that the coast was clear. For now, the eastern half of the city sat in silence, vacant. The houses and tents stood as shells without their inhabitants. She spotted a couple of rebels' bodies lying in pools of blood, shredded beyond all recognition, a sign that Vincent had at least been able to put up a fight.

He had killed thirty-eight men before a dozen of them had pushed past him, only to later fall to Catherine's blades. What disturbed her them most was the fact that she caught herself searching for his body as she walked east. The corpses lay in a higher concentration the farther east she went, all torn by what looked to be Vincent's claws. Some lay face up, others died with their faces stuck in the mud.

None of them were Vincent.

But that didn't mean anything. She could have missed his body, could've walked right past him because he too had been sliced up so much by the rebels blades that she wouldn't have been able to recognize him. She was too tired to double back and look again. A small part of her didn't want to see his corpse, and would rather regard him as missing rather than dead. But she knew that he couldn't possibly have made it.

As she trekked back to the mountain, she decided to take the road to further punish herself. She was truly a masochist, berating herself for even ordering him to accomplish a task that was humanly impossible. No one, not even Vincent could take on fifty men all by themselves and live to tell the tale. She _knew _that deep down, but she believed that Vincent was somehow infallible, that he could do the impossible. Her overestimation got him killed.

She sheathed her swords before sneaking past the castle gate, not really caring if she was caught or not as she sauntered into the castle's courtyard in front of the palace. Raindrops bounced aimlessly off of the cobblestone ground, seeping into the porous limestone bricks. Lighting seared and scorched above her as thunder followed swiftly afterwards.

Catherine felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, something one feels when one is being watched. A moment later, a hand was clamped over her mouth and another was wrapped around her arms to restrain her.

She was about to struggle against the person restraining her before a painfully familiar voice whispered in her ear, "It's okay, it's me." He released her just as quick.

Catherine whirled around to face Vincent and punched him square in the jaw, which sent him reeling. "Ah," he hissed, rubbing his jaw, "What the hell was that for?" His scarred face was human again.

She wrenched the mask off of her face and threw it to the ground with a clatter before grabbing the back of his head and crashing her lips to his. He didn't miss a beat, brushing her hood back onto her shoulders so he could properly cup her face in his hands. She clung to him, like a drowning victim would clutch at a floating log, or a laudanum addict would savor the last drop of opium on earth.

Catherine's tears fell down her cheeks with the rain, salt mixing with sweet as she kissed him. She broke away from his lips to pull him into a hug. "I thought you were dead. I'm so sorry."

He closed his eyes in relief and kissed her hair. "I told you I'd fight off the entire rebel army just so I could return to you." Vincent pulled back to cup her cheek in one hand. "You're bleeding. I can smell it on you."

She wiped the tears away from her face and hardened her voice. "Yeah, well, that's what happens when you take on twelve men at once when the person you're counting on lets them slip past. What the hell happened?"

"I got overwhelmed long enough for them to sneak past," he shrugged. "I think you should get inside and dress your wounds before someone sees us."

"Sorry I punched you."

He grinned crookedly at her as he retrieved the vigilante's mask from the ground. "Yes, well, I'll just add that to the list of things I'll need compensating for once you become Queen, eh?"

Catherine sighed, only now beginning to feel the various cuts, bruises, sprains, and pulled muscles which spotted up and down her body as they walked to her bedchambers. Once they got inside, she stopped him before he went to bed.

"I'm sorry I kissed you," she said.

"We can just forget it ever happened," he replied without looking at her before going into his room and shutting his door behind him.

**Sorry 'bout the wait! I hope it was worth it!**


	10. Promises

The King gripped his staff tightly, his knuckles whitening with the force of his grip as he stood. Captain Joseph Bishop stood at attention, his polished armor glinting in the morning sunshine which filtered through the windows of the throne room. In front of him, five of his men knelt in submission to the King, their hands bound behind their backs. They stared dejectedly down at the stone floor in front of them, refusing to meet the eyes of their King.

The royal families' personal guards were made to stand watch outside the doors whilst the Princess, the Duchess, and the King received Sir Bishop. Catherine's long-sleeved dress covered her bruises and bandaged cuts from the night before, although she had trouble hiding her sore legs as she limped around the castle.

"Captain Bishop," began the King, "what is the nature of your visit? Who are these prisoners?"

Captain Bishop bowed to his King before answering. "Your Grace, I assume that you have been made aware of the rebel attack upon the village last night. The Vigilante led a small group of my men- most of whom were killed- against the invaders and were able to exterminate every last one of them. None of those men had my permission to do so and instead defected to serve under a menace to the crown. These men I have before you are the only remaining ones."

The King was not impressed. "And what of the Vigilante? Why do I not have his head on a platter as well?"

"Sir, the Vigilante is not a man. She remains to be elusive."

The King raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. "So does that mean that you let some _cunt_ lead your men to their deaths? You're even more incompetent than I thought."

Joe inclined his head. "My apologies, Your Majesty. What is your wish for the fates of these men?"

"Off with their heads, of course," the King said simply and sat back down on his throne.

"Your Grace," the Princess interrupted, causing the soldiers' heads to snap up in recognition of her voice, "these men annihilated the rebel force, though they were under the guidance of a rogue enemy of the crown. It was only due to Captain Bishop's incompetent refusal to defend against the rebel force himself were these men forced to disobey their orders. It was only because of their defiance that the rebels have had yet to storm our castle. I believe that Captain Bishop is to blame here, not these men."

Captain Bishop's expression slackened in disbelief, also recognizing the Princess' to also be the vigilante's. "But, Your Majesty, _she _is the vigilante!"

It was Catherine's turn to rise to address the Army Captain. "Such insolence from a soldier is unheard of. You should pay for failing to defend both the village and His Majesty, the King from outside attack, and instead you choose to accuse me of being the very enemy that you despise. These men put their loyalty to their King and country before their unfounded faith in your leadership, and as a result this castle continues to operate under the House Chandler." Catherine finished and sat back in her seat.

Aghast, Captain Bishop looked to the King to reprimand his daughter, but to everyone's surprise, the King nodded thoughtfully. "You see, Captain Bishop? You are in the presence of _true _loyalty. When my daughter rules alongside her husband" -only the soldiers were watching when Catherine rolled her eyes- "she will still remain loyal to my memory. Guards!" the King called to his personal guardsmen waiting outside of the doors. They trotted in at his command. "You will show Captain Bishop _out_."

Joe was livid as the guards took his arms to drag him out of the throne room. "Your daughter is the traitor! She's the Vigilante!" His yells became indiscernible as he was dragged down the hall to gods-know-where.

"Princess," the King said, before brandishing a dagger towards her. "Untie these young knights, will you? I have more pressing matters to attend to." Catherine nodded respectfully as her father swept from the room, leaving only Heather and the knights she had fought side-by-side with the night before.

"You guys all right, then?" she asked before cutting the bonds around their wrists. Heather surprised everyone by coming over and helping the knights stand.

"Thank you, m'lady," said one of the knights to Duchess Heather, who blushed and smiled awkwardly before helping another knight up from his knees.

"We're fine, Princess, thanks to you," one of the knights replied to her inquiry, rubbing his wrists where the ropes had chafed him.

"Yes, well, let's just say that I harbor no good feelings towards the Captain after he left his men to die. I did kill his brother, but had he not withheld his men, I have a feeling that we would not have lost as many as we did."

"Do you know what is going to happen to him?"

She shook her head. "He probably won't be giving orders any time soon. Who is his second in command?"

"Lieutenant Gabriel Lowan. He hates the King with a burning passion."

"Let him know that he has an ally inside of the castle, will you?" The knight nodded gratefully to her. The five of them, instead of bowing to her like they would to any other royalty, saluted her just as they had the night before.

"We are forever in your debt, m'lady," the lead one said, and motioned for his companions to file out of the throne room behind him.

Heather hugged her sister after they knew they were alone. "I'm glad you're okay," she said as she pulled away, noting Catherine's wince. "I understand 'okay' is subjective. I mean I'm glad that you're alive."

Catherine laughed. "I am too. I probably wouldn't have lived past twenty minutes if Vincent hadn't shown up when he did."

"Is Vincent okay?"

The princess shrugged. "He was fine when he got back. We haven't really talked very much today, since…" she trailed off.

"Since what?" Heather asked before her eyes widened in realization. "_Oh_. You fucked him, didn't you?"

"_What_? No, no, no, and _no._ I just…I kissed him and then apologized for it. He said we could forget about the whole thing, which I am _trying _to do."

Heather shook her head. "I remember when you ran squealing to Tess after you first had sex with one of your guardsmen. The only reason I heard about it was because Magnus was muttering under his breath. I don't see why a kiss between you and Vincent is such a big deal."

Catherine pressed her lips together. "I happen to like him a lot better than most of my bedmates, and he seems to like me."

"Mhmm," Heather snorted, a bemused expression upon her face. "I'll see you later, all right? Try not to start another battle."

"Send in Vincent, will you?" Catherine called after her sister, who nodded and got Vincent from his post outside of the throne room doors.

"You wanted to see me, m'lady?" he asked, trying hard to conceal his grin.

"What are you so happy about?"

He shrugged. "Joe may or may not have insulted me quite a bit before demoting me to be your personal guardsman. I am merely reveling in this opportunity to be smug about his defeat." Catherine laughed before falling silent at his now serious expression.

"What?" she demanded.

"We need to talk, Catherine, about last night," Vincent said, staring directly into her eyes so she couldn't avoid his gaze.

"I thought we agreed not to talk about the kiss."

"The kiss wasn't the only thing that happened last night, Catherine. Honestly, it's the least of my worries. You left me to protect you against fifty men."

"Which you did. I wouldn't have been able to get the villagers out in time without you," she protested.

He shook his head. "A dozen broke through, remember? I _failed_ to protect you."

"I am fine-," she began, but Vincent cut her off.

"You're not fine. I can smell the blood leaking through your bandages and you can't walk anywhere without limping. I didn't protect you."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Vincent, you moron, I didn't leave you to fend off those fifty men by yourself because I needed protecting whilst I herded refugees, I _left_ you there because it would have been tactically impossible for the both of us to help get people out _and _fend off the rebels. I didn't need a guardsman, I needed someone to watch my back, _which you did._ Those archers and the last remaining swordsmen couldn't have done what you did."

"I could've gotten you killed."

She shrugged. "I could say the same to you."

"What happens now?"

"The Army is on our side and Joe is out of the way," Catherine sighed, "I just need to figure out how I can kill both the King and my fiancé around the same time."

Vincent thought for a moment. "Isn't your birthday ball coming up?"

Catherine nodded, a little taken aback. "Yes, how did you know that?"

He rolled his eyes. "Everyone in the kingdom knows the birthdates of the royal family. Both your father and Lord Marks should be in attendance."

She hissed. "I can't wait to show the kingdom the might of the King with his head rolling down the mountain." Catherine smiled as she looked upon Vincent. "It will be a little birthday present to myself."

Vincent held up his hand. "On one condition," she raised an eyebrow, "_I_ get to kill Lord Marks."

She laughed. "Settle the score with your manly pride still intact?"

"I want to show him how a _real_ soldier fights," he clenched his jaw, "That entitled little shit doesn't know what war _is_." She rolled her eyes at his egotistical bravado, but let his comments slide.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Later that night, as Vincent was giving her some privacy as she changed into the vigilante's clothes, he heard her give a yell. Without hesitation, he rushed over to her as she had a hand braced upon the base board of her bed.

Catherine's bandages had obviously gotten tangled in the sleeves of her dress, and had peeled away from her wounds rather painfully. The sleeveless underdress wasn't thick enough to hide the bruises and scrapes over her shoulders and back. Her arms had contorted into an awkward angle as she struggled to free herself from the cumbersome confines of her dress without harming herself further.

"Catherine, _stop_," Vincent spat, "Gods, you're going to hurt yourself worse doing this. What happened to that poultice you rubbed on that whipped woman's wounds?" he asked as he gently disentangled her arms from her dress, still cringing whenever she hissed through her teeth.

"Ah, _fuck_," she swore, "I think I have a vial of it underneath my bed in my weapons chest." He let her peel the rest of the dress off as he rummaged through her weapons chest (making sure he wouldn't cut himself on any of her poisoned daggers). When he got it out, she reached for it, but he pulled it away from her.

"You'll just hurt yourself trying to reach," he told her softly, "Now hold still." He gently applied a little of the poultice to each of her open wounds. To his amazement, the cuts sewed themselves back together underneath his fingertips. She groaned in relief as pain bled away from her body in waves. Instead of the criss-cross of thin cuts up and down her arms, she now had thin, pale scars to mark where her enemies had touched her.

His hand remained upon her shoulder after the last scrape had faded away. "I don't like seeing you in pain," Vincent remarked as his fingertips danced over her scarred shoulders.

"Unfortunately for you, brave sir knight, pain is an almost constant companion to me. Pain is a dutiful reminder to me that while I am probably one of the best fighters who ever lived, I am still human. Therefore I am still fallible," she turned to face him, but he still hadn't removed his hand from her shoulder. "You are afraid to take what you want, Vincent, because you are afraid to be reminded that you are still human. But I am not afraid." Catherine rose up and ghosted her lips over his. "I know what _I_ want."

Just as he was about to move in closer, she pulled away. "I just realized that I can't go patrolling tonight. My tunic is shredded and all my weapons are bloody. Blades _do _rust after all."

Vincent seemed to find his ability to speak. "Catherine I-," he began to say, but she cut him off.

"Vincent, I'm not looking to just share meaningful glances with you for the rest of eternity. I have urges, after all. And if I cannot satiate my thirst with you… then I'll go looking for satisfaction elsewhere. I am not in the business of pining after people that don't want me in return; that's for Lord Marks to do."

He pressed his lips together. "Do you want help cleaning your knives?"

Catherine smiled humorlessly. "It's all business with you, isn't it?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The next day, Magnus awoke them at dawn. "Princess! Princess, I know you're not keen on them, but we do have your birthday masquerade ball to plan."

Catherine sat up huffily in her bed, her hair falling out of her braid. "Can't I just kill the King today and get it over with? Honestly."

Magnus rolled his eyes. "We both know that you wouldn't do it. We've only got a week before the ball. Your sister and the event planner are driving each other mad, so I'm asking you to go downstairs to quell a little bit of the tension. I still have to get myself fitted for a linen tunic."

She yawned pointedly at him. "Are you planning on sneaking Kurt in?"

He snorted. "Even with masks on, people would still be able to tell that two men were dancing together."

"I've been wondering about that," Vincent said as he rose from his room, "when you two dance together, who is the man and who is the woman?"

Magnus glared at the curious knight. "If we wanted to dance with a woman, we wouldn't be dancing with another man, you heteronormative little shit. But I have a feeling you're not asking about _dancing_." He turned to Catherine, "For the love of the gods, go defend your sister from that hag of an event planner. I have no idea why it matters so much what the hell kind of flowers they buy, but apparently it does." He practically glided from the room.

As Catherine and Vincent descended the spiral staircase, Catherine was almost immediately assaulted by her younger sister.

"Catherine!" Heather cried. "Tell her that roses look better alone than in some hideous bouquet. _Tell_ her," she pointed an accusatory finger at a rather frazzled middle-aged woman.

"Heather, I honestly don't give a shit about roses and bouquets right now. I need to know if my fiancé is on the guest list," the princess knew well enough that Heather and the event planner would eventually sort it out without her input anyways.

Heather sighed and shouted at the event planner, who had been writing things down in charcoal on a scroll. "Serei! You old witch, the princess needs to see the guest list!"

Serei strode over purposefully, obviously used to the snide barbs Heather threw her way. She bowed deeply to Catherine, who always made a point to be kind to her in the past. "My princess, how may I be of service to you today?"

Catherine nodded her head courteously at the servant. "Good morning Madame Serei, I was wondering if my fiancé Lord Marks is on the guest list for next week's ball?"

The servant smiled. "Why of course. No man in his right mind would miss out on an opportunity to see you in your ball gown."

"Will he be bringing his guards with him?"

"Yes, m'lady."

"Do you know how many?"

"Only around half a dozen, Miss Catherine."

"What exactly is the schedule going to be like for that evening?"

Serei unraveled a couple more inches of her parchment so she could read off to Catherine. "Well, you'll be receiving guests in a procession line for the first hour," she ignored the pained noise from Vincent, "After sundown, we'll have a feast in the dining hall with the lords and ladies, and the commoners will eat in the courtyard. Your father has a commencement toast after supper, and then it will be on to the dance which will be held in the throne room."

"And how many guests will be in attendance?"

"Approximately two hundred, m'lady."

"Anyone worth noting in particular?"

"Well, the Southern Lord Marks will be there, obviously, and the Western Lord Muir has stated that he will make an appearance later in the evening."

Catherine smiled brightly at Serei. "Thank you so much."

"It's a pleasure serving you, m'lady," she came in close to the princess to whisper, "And I will continue doing so long after the King has passed on. Many of us will serve you till the day we die."

The princess nodded graciously as Serei stood back. "Such unwavering loyalty will be worth its weight in gold someday. _And that day may be sooner than you think_." Serei bowed again and retreated down the hallway.

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?" Heather asked, pulling Catherine and Vincent to the side so passing servants wouldn't be able to overhear.

Catherine nodded gravely. "I'm planning for the King and the Southern and Western lords' heads on pikes at the end of the evening. Another opportunity like this may not present itself for a long while, so I'll have to take my chances."

Vincent cleared his throat. "You'll have to find a way to kill all three in a relatively short amount of time, so none may escape. We'll also have to put in word to Lieutenant Lowan right after the King is dead, so the Army may be on standby for your orders."

Heather blinked. "Well, I'll let you two worry about that, alright? I have a masquerade ball to plan. And, if all goes well, a coronation ceremony for our new queen," she winked at her older sister before flouncing off to harass the event planner once more.

"She's taking the planning of her father's death rather well," Vincent remarked.

Catherine shook her head. "She almost ripped my head off the first time I told her, but I managed to convince her to open her eyes and see all the horrible things he's done. I can only hope that her guilt over her grief for his death will not consume her."

Vincent inclined an eyebrow. "Will you not grieve his death?"

She paused as a servant passed them by before answering his question. "I will probably grieve a little, but I have come to terms with my involvement in his death. I know you're afraid that I will falter when it comes time to kill him, Vincent." Catherine bore her gaze into his, "I see your wariness. You believe that I will hesitate because of my familial connection to him. But the King is only the man who fucked my mother. If anything, Magnus is my father."

"But he's-,"

"In love with another man? That alone does not make him any less of a man, nor does it mean that he is any less of father figure. So when you have doubts that I will not be able to kill my father, rest assured that the King is not my true father in the first place."

"But should you falter m'lady, I will pick up your sword myself and lob off that crown of his."

Catherine's amber eyes flashed with annoyance. "You will do no such thing. If anyone else kills the King, it would be considered an act of war. I would be looked upon as the greedy princess who hires others to do my dirty work for me. No, _I_ will swing the killing sword."

And it was if, in that moment, all of Vincent's faith had shifted. Whereas before, he had doubted the princess' state of mind and her conviction, now he knew that she would do whatever it took to claim the throne in the name of her people. The Catherine from his dreams had begun to emerge: the perfect blend of warrior and queen. It was as if she too, had finally shaken off her doubts and misgivings.

There was no doubt in Vincent's mind that Catherine would kill the King.

He only hoped that she would do it soon.

**I'm sorry about the really infrequent updates! I only have a month left of school and my AP exams are coming up and oh my Jesus I cannot even **_**begin**_** to even with my finals week. *screams*. Once summer rolls around, I'll be able to publish a chapter **_**every freaking day**_**. THAT is what I'm excited for.**


	11. Jealousy

**AN: Just to let y'all know, Joe is NOT a bad guy in this story. He's just grieving and conflicted about trusting the vigilante who took his little brother from him. He would sooner believe that the vigilante is the monster, not his brother, and therefore acted accordingly. So last chapter was not the last time you'll hear from him. **

Tess, lady of the Night, servant of the flesh, had worked as she had for years. Her parents died as a result of an outbreak of influenza when she was a teenager. But her occupation had never been the last resort. She wasn't forced into prostitution (unlike many of her fellow workers). She actually enjoyed her vocation.

The only person in the world who hadn't judged her for her decisions was Catherine. The princess had stood steadfast upon the behalf of her friend, and had pushed for allowing Tess to live in the brothel inside of the castle. Catherine always supported her friend's decision to become a prostitute. She even went so far as having asked Tess for advice regarding her sexuality.

"I can't believe you told him that you were sure that you wanted him," Tess remarked as she undid the braids upon the princess' head. The afternoon sun trickled through the windows in Catherine's bedchambers as Tess helped her friend get ready for the masquerade ball.

"Why? Should I not have?" Catherine asked, suddenly unsure that her bluntness was working in her favor.

Tess laughed. "No, the fact that you're so forward with your desires… it's very _Catherine_." The princess smirked as she laced up the back of her own dress, a talent she'd mastered in order to be able to change in and out of her vigilante garb quickly.

The dress itself was a deep, full crimson, the same shade of red that frequently ran off of Catherine's blades. It had no sleeves to hide her scars, but it fell to the floor with a great, cascading train that flowed like a torrential river. Her breasts, while not being the largest in the kingdom, were no longer hidden beneath layers of fabric, and instead crested rather immodestly over the neckline of her dress.

"By the gods, Catherine," Tess whistled as she tousled her friend's hair into glossy waves.

Catherine looked down at her body. "Is it too much?"

"No, no…it's beautiful. I just can't help but feel as if you want your guardsman for more than just a casual affair," Tess' eyes bore straight into the reflection of her surrogate sister.

"He saved my life. I saved his. We've fought together. We'd die for each other," Catherine shrugged, "I cannot say to you that I don't have serious feelings for him. I care for him a great deal, but I don't have time playing 'angtsy teenager' with him when I'm plotting to take over the throne _tonight._"

Tess grinned, "I'll have a Queen for a best friend." She finished arranging Catherine's hair into loose curls that gathered around her oval face and stepped out of view so the princess could assess her appearance in the mirror.

She wore very little makeup, just an outline of kohl around her eyes and gold powder over her eyelids. Instead of wearing a mask as everyone else attending the ball would be, Tess had painted an intricate, lacy design under her eyes and above her eyebrows. Her scars, thin and pale, were not very prominent yet still gave her an air of strength.

Catherine met her own amber eyes in her reflection. "A Queen indeed."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Though the sun had set, the dining hall was full of light. Candles and torches blazed from walls and candelabras. Some two dozen lords and ladies chatted over pitchers of wine and mead. Roasted hogs and hens lay half-carved upon gilded platters, stewed vegetables steamed in silver bowls, and desserts were stacked upon miniature display racks. The other one hundred seventy guests ate in the courtyard: merchants to artisans to drug lords were kept separate from the highest class.

Women were draped in dresses adorned with house colors: emerald green for the Southerners, blue for the Easterners, yellow for the Westerners, and scarlet for the Northerners. The dresses for the South and West were corseted and somewhat ostentatiously decorated with precious stones and gold thread. The Eastern dresses were simple yet elegant, falling in waves not unlike the oceans of grass of which the region they were from. The Northern women, who sat with a ring of space around them, wore scandalously revealing dresses. Their shoulders and backs were bare, as if to show their neighbors that the chill did not affect them.

The chatter stopped as soon as Princess Catherine and her guardsman entered the hall. She had just finished greeting the last of the guests at the door and had come to take her seat next to her father, the King. To her dismay, her father was not among any of the diners, who had risen to receive the princess. Instead, the head chair at the table sat empty.

Magnus swept towards them and leaned forward to speak in Catherine's ear. "The King, His Majesty, had business to attend to. As in, _not here in the castle_." He leaned back and plastered a fake smile upon his tired face, ushering for Catherine to do the same. She smiled graciously at her guests as Magnus and Vincent escorted her towards the head chair of the table.

Lord Marks, who had been seated to her left, pulled out her chair for her just as Vincent was about to do so. Vincent didn't let his irritation show before standing at attention behind his charge's chair. There was a rush of noise as the lords and ladies sat with the princess. Duchess Heather had been seated to her sister's right and shot a significant look at Catherine.

Chatter resumed almost immediately, with the Western and Southern ladies glancing at the princess with scathing reproach. The Northern ladies were intrigued by Catherine's choice of color and style as it mirrored their own. Lord Marks clucked his tongue with disapproval. "My love, you should cover up all of these hideous scars. It is unbecoming of a woman of your status to dress so scandalously."

Catherine fixed him with a chilling smile and answered under her breath so no one but her sister and Lord Marks could hear, "Call me '_my love_' again and I'll give you enough scars to rival my own." Vincent fought back a grin behind her. She turned to Heather and returned to her normal voice. "Where's His Majesty?"

"He left while you were getting ready. Said he had urgent business to attend to regarding the Army," Heather replied.

"That'll show those insolent shits," Lord Marks muttered into his plate.

"Yes, because the gods forbid putting the welfare of their people over the King's vendetta against the vigilante," Catherine countered.

His jaw tightened as he hissed a reply. "I will not have my betrothed speak to me in such a manner. I will be your husband in a few months, so you had best get used to _keeping your mouth shut._"

The princess was about to give a nasty retort (something to the tune of impaling himself on the sharp rocks at the base of the mountain) when Lord Muir of the West leaned past Duchess Heather to speak with her. "Your Grace, may I be so bold as to tell you how stunning you look this evening?" Lord Muir smiled a sickly sweet smile at Catherine.

"Thank you, my lord," Catherine replied, inclining her head graciously at his compliment.

"If I may ask, how did you get your scars?"

Another dozen people fell silent at the Lord's rather probing question. Most had been wondering the same thing, but hadn't had the guts to ask. The princess smiled with fake embarrassment, "Actually, I was just a clumsy little thing as a child. There used to be a gigantic rosebush in the courtyard and I just tripped into it one day and gathered many cuts." This wasn't a complete lie for there once _was_ a rosebush, but it was gone long before Catherine was born. Lord Muir and the rest of the diners seemed to accept her story, though.

An hour passed at a crawling pace. Catherine watched as the lords and ladies inhaled the feast. Despite of how high they held themselves, they were nothing but pigs to her. Except for the Northern ladies, who had come without their lords, they merely ate until they were full and spent the rest of the meal talking amongst themselves. The princess decided to rise once the eating died down.

"My lords and ladies, if I may direct you towards the throne room for the beginning of the festivities," Catherine said and gestured for Magnus to lead them away. Many of them had drunk too much mead and wine, and stumbled slightly as they followed Magnus out through the dining hall and into the throne room. She turned to another servant. "Would you be so kind as to let our guests in the courtyard know that the dance will begin shortly?" He nodded and strode off to the courtyard.

Only Vincent and Heather remained with her. "The plan is off," Catherine said. "Damn. Business my arse, the King must have had His suspicions and is hiding somewhere."

Vincent inclined an eyebrow. "Catherine, it wouldn't have been tactically plausible in the first place. Once you had killed either the King or the Southern and Western lords, the guards would have swarmed you. You wouldn't have been able to get them all."

Heather nodded. "Vincent's right. We need to have a back-up plan for next time. But for tonight, we'll just have to grin and bear it so people don't get suspicious."

The princess sighed. "How in the hell am I supposed to celebrate my twenty-second birthday knowing that this may be one of the only opportunities with the Western and Southern lords in the same place? The King must be somewhere in this castle." She turned to Vincent. "Is He here?"

Vincent shook his head. "He's probably somewhere in the valley with his guardsmen. We would not be able to leave to search for him without arousing suspicion from the guests. We've dawdled long enough." Catherine nodded and begrudgingly made her way over to the throne room with Duchess Heather on her arm.

When they entered the throne room, Catherine gasped in pleasant surprise. Her sister had gone all out to turn the normally oppressive atmosphere into an elegant ballroom. A canopy of lanterns and candles was strung over the dance floor, the tiny flames blinking and twinkling above the combined mass of nearly two hundred guests. The orchestra, comprised of three cellos, two violins, and two violas, sat on the raised platform where the throne normally was. A single golden star hung from the ceiling to sit between the glow of the lantern lights.

"That's for mother," Heather said, pointing to the golden star, "so she may see how strong you've grown." Catherine smiled and hugged her sister.

"It's beautiful, Heather, thank you," she said, noticing the appreciative stares the pair was receiving from the menfolk. It was not small truth that the Northern traits the Chandler girls possessed from their mother gave them an edge of exotic beauty. Within the first minute, a duke from the East asked Heather for a dance. She obliged, smiling graciously.

All of the lords and ladies had donned their masks. Some were made with gems that shone brilliantly in the candlelight. Others were painted to resemble the faces of wild animals. The commoners (a term loosely used to describe the rich criminal lords the King had allowed to attend), generally wore masks with feathers sprouting off of the sides. Their prostitutes merely wore masks that just covered the area surrounding their eyes.

One of the Northern women approached Catherine. "Your Grace," she said as she bowed (something men usually did), "I am Amani of House Greyfell. I grew up with your mother, and it gladdens me to see how much of her spirit remains in you." She was middle-aged, yet still possessed the wild strength and beauty of youth. Her wolf's mask had been lifted to reveal her face, and she had a very thick brogue as well as a very deep voice. She had one very large scar on her right shoulder, Catherine noticed as Amani leaned forward to speak in a lower voice: "I know those scars are not ones that you would receive falling into a rosebush m'lady. Do you fight with one sword or two?"

Catherine inclined an eyebrow. "Two, Lady Greyfell. And you?"

"Nowadays I just use one," she patted her scarred shoulder, "Old assassination attempt gone awry." Amani glanced back at her onlooking companions, "I would just like to tell you that the North and its allies will stand behind you when you take the throne."

Catherine's eyes widened in fear, "I hope I haven't been _that _obvious in my intentions, Lady Amani."

Amani smiled kindly. "Once you get to be my age, Your Grace, you can usually see what people in power are going to do before anything happens." She winked and walked back to her group. Before Catherine could say anything to Vincent, Lord Marks approached her.

"My love, I saved a dance for you," he stated with a calculated smile, holding out his hand as many eyes watched for her reaction.

Having no other choice but to play along, Catherine took his outstretched hand and curtsied in gratitude. "It would be my honor, _my love_." He escorted her to the dance floor just as a new song arose from the orchestra. His mask, Vincent mused as he watched from the wall, was rather fitting of his personality: a black-and-white face signifying the division of his two lives, one good, one evil. Whilst Lord Marks pretended that he was always the white face of good, Vincent surmised that he constantly had his dark side weighing him down.

As Vincent watched them dance, he was able to block out all other conversation except for the one hissed between the 'betrothed' couple.

"What did I say about calling me 'my love'?" Catherine asked as he wrapped a possessive arm around her waist.

"I don't think you quite understand, my dear Catherine," Lord Marks told her in a patronizing tone, "In a couple of months, you and I will be wed. Such insolence will not be tolerated. You are _mine_."

Instead of cowering from him as he would have expected her to, she merely laughed. "It's so amusing that you think you'll live long enough to be my husband."

He smiled mirthlessly at her. "Empty threats, my love. It'll be hard to issue them with my cock in your mouth." Vincent growled beneath his breath, a noise imperceptible beneath the teeming mass of noise swirling in the throne room. Lord Marks twirled her about robotically, well-trained and with flawless technique. She kept a plastered smile upon her face as they danced along to the swooping grace notes coming from the orchestra.

"_I've never seen a man look at a woman with so much devotion_," Vincent heard one of the women say. Turns out, it was Lady Amani of House Greyfell. At first, he assumed she was believing the act Lord Marks had been putting on, but he realized she had been staring at him. A little too late, he saw that she had realized that he could hear her from across the room over the crowd of people. He snapped his attention back to Catherine and Lord Marks.

The other couples swayed and danced around the to-be King and Queen. Though no one said it, only the princess looked ready to ascend the throne. Skirts scraped along the limestone floor and feet rocked absentmindedly as people danced out of mere obligation. The type of music the orchestra played was slow and melodic, something that actually belonged in a concert hall rather than in a ballroom. After the first song ended, Lord Muir tapped Lord Marks on the shoulder.

"May I have this dance with Her Grace?" He asked Lord Marks. Marks nodded begrudgingly and placed Catherine's hand in Lord Muir's.

Catherine smiled warmly at the Western lord, grateful for the break from her fiancé. "I'm glad you could make it to the castle, my lord."

"Well, to be honest I was hoping to converse with your father. But I'll settle for dancing with one of the most beautiful women in the kingdom." Lord Muir's mask was silver, but painted in the design of a fox's face. He looked just a little bit younger than the King, but his voice was much deeper.

"I just _love_ your mask," Catherine said, trying not to let the conversation lapse into an awkward silence.

"Yes, many of my acquaintances call me Silverfox and my lady wife commissioned a mask to fit the name. I haven't had an occasion to wear it before." His eyes changed slightly as he shifted the conversation. "So tell me, how will you and your soon-to-be husband rule the kingdom once your father no longer has any say? I trust Lord Marks will remember his friends as he ascends the throne."

Catherine faked a smile. "I'm sure my betrothed will always have his closest allies in mind as he serves his people."

Lord Muir nodded. "That's wonderful. I would just hate to have to _remind_ him of where his true loyalties should lie."

"How would you go about… jogging his memory?"

He fixed her with a cold, emotionless stare, "The easiest way to punish a child is not through physical reprimand, but the demolishing of one of his _toys_. Your Grace would be surprised at how many men that little fact remains true for." His threat was veiled, but his meaning was clear: if her future husband did not continue to bribe the Western lords, the first person Lord Muir would go after would be Catherine.

Catherine mentally ran through the many tortures she would use on him before beheading him. Instead of saying something equally threatening in return, she merely smiled and replied, "I'll be sure to pass on the message, my lord. But if need be, I can remember for him."

Lord Muir inclined his head in agreement. "Well, I wouldn't want for you to disobey your husband or do anything without his permission on _my _behalf. But I can see that you will do well serving under King Marks." He bowed and left her to dance with his wife.

Before she knew it, another arm wrapped around her waist and clasped her hand. Catherine laughed, "You got dressed quickly."

Tess grinned from beneath her eye mask. Her dress was violet and form-fitted around her shapely torso. She was significantly taller than Catherine, which added hilarity to the situation. "I saw the sleaze-lords twirling you about. You're going to need a bath before their poisonous touch eats through your skin."

Catherine stepped out to let Tess spin her, reveling in the fact that she was finally able to enjoy her birthday. Many of the ladies danced with each other, whilst their lords stood off to the side and discussed business. Tess lowered her voice so no one, not even Vincent could hear: "He's been staring at you the entire evening Catherine."

"Yes, well, he is _trained_ to keep focus on a target," Catherine whispered back.

Tess snorted. "He looked like he was going to rip Lord Marks and Lord Muir apart."

"He even asked me if I would let _him_ kill my betrothed."

Tess' eyebrows raised in concern. "I think his jealousy may turn dangerous if left unchecked. I've seen men go to very dark extremes under the guise of protecting their women."

Catherine shook her head and locked eyes with Vincent over Tess' shoulder. "He knows that I can protect myself." She saw the frustration in his eyes, the slight tint of the Beast hiding just beneath his surface. He was angry.

"That may be so, Catherine, but Vincent is still a man. He's not going to settle for just being your chambermaid for eternity. He's spent most of his life training and fighting in battle. I don't want you to get hurt by deluding yourself into thinking he'll change what he is for you," Tess continued to whisper as she turned Catherine.

Suddenly, the music stopped and Lord Marks was standing in front of the orchestra, a goblet of wine in his hand. "Ladies and gentlemen, I propose a toast for my betrothed," everyone smiled genially and raised their glasses with him as he locked eyes with Catherine, "My beautiful Catherine, I wish you decades more of happy birthdays, and I hope to be the one who provides them for you." He stepped down from the platform and walked through the other dancers to stand next to her. His voice was still loud enough for the silent crowd to hear as he finished the toast, "I hope I may be worthy of ruling alongside you. To the future Queen!" He cried as he raised the goblet.

"Hear, hear!" The onlookers replied in unison. The act Lord Marks was putting on fooled all but a select few: Tess, Catherine, Vincent, Heather, and the Northern ladies. Everyone else was duped into believing that their union would be an auspicious one, and their subsequent reign would be fruitful and prosperous.

"Give us a kiss, then!" Someone in the crowd shouted. Catherine faked an embarrassed smile and laughed awkwardly. But Lord Marks was not one to refuse a request. He handed his goblet to the nearest man, grabbed Catherine by the shoulders, and kissed her. Clearly he was looking for a more passionate kiss by the way his tongue fought against her closed lips, but he settled for just fusing their mouths together for a couple of moments.

When they broke apart, Catherine caught a glimpse of Vincent glaring a hole in the back of her betrothed's head. He strode out of the throne room just as the dance floor erupted in cheers and applause. She plastered a fake smile on as she faced her beaming guests, her slightly drunk fiancé on her arm.

The rest of the dance continued for another hour or so without incident. Catherine was worrying the entire time about Vincent, wondering where he had gone off to and hoping that he hadn't done anything stupid. As the dance wore on, half of the guests were drunkenly stumbling around, laughing and talking at ostentatiously loud volumes. She'd wiped her mouth off several times and had downed a couple of swigs of whiskey from a flask she'd found on the floor.

After a while, Catherine excused herself from the party. "Thank you all for coming," she said to the remaining guests. Most of them were making their way to leave anyway.

As she walked along the torch lit corridors on the way to her staircase, she hissed his name so no one else could hear. "Vincent? Vincent, where the hell are you?" She had no plans to spend the rest of her birthday looking for a man who obviously didn't want to be found, so she ascended her staircase with resolve to look for him in the morning.

Vincent, as it turns out, was lying on his cot in his room, staring up at the curved ceiling with his hands clasped on his stomach. "I've been looking for you," Catherine said softly.

"I noticed. Was that before or after you kissed Lord Marks?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "I should have known you'd act like this. Immaturity at its finest."

Vincent sat up and looked at her, the look in his eyes indecipherably dark. "That's what I don't understand. You _let _him kiss you. You kept your mouth shut as Lord Muir threatened you. The Catherine I know wouldn't have let them leave this palace alive."

"The Catherine you know gets to wear a different mask. I can't just kill willy-nilly when I feel like it. But at least I don't just stand up against walls and glare at every person that touches you."

Within a blink of an eye, she'd been shoved up against the locked double doors of her bedchambers. Her wrists were pinned above her head with one hand and his face was cold and imperceptible. "How else should I feel when he grabs your waist?" His other hand found its way to her waist and gripped one of her hips. "How else should I feel when he tries to force his tongue past your lips?" He leaned his head closer to her, and just as he was about to press his lips to hers, she reared her head back and crashed her forehead against his.

The blow sent him reeling backwards, clutching his head like a drunken man. Catherine clucked her tongue at him with disapproval. "Don't you get it? I'm not to be possessed. I'm _not_ Lord Marks' mount. I'm also not yours. I don't need you hovering over me like some glowering, brooding arsehole."

"I'm not trying to possess you, you depraved woman," Vincent hissed, his eyes glowing yellow.

Catherine refused to let the Beast scare her away from this. "Oh really? Last week, I _told_ you that I wanted you. You showed no interest, not even a hint of reciprocation. But the _moment_ Lord Marks puts his hands on me, you act like a child whose toy is being played with by someone else. I don't even know if you really want me, I just know that you don't want your manly ego to be tread upon."

"You know Catherine, sometimes I think _you're _the one with the big ego here. I obviously want you, but you still keep fishing for compliments."

She threw her arms up as if in surrender, "Then take what you want, for the love of the gods."

Vincent grabbed her by the scruff her neck at crushed his lips to hers. This was much different from their first kiss, where she was merely happy that he was alive: they sucked the air from each other's lungs as their tongues slid in and out of their mouths. Without breaking away from him, she grasped the lapels of his tunic and ripped it off of him. Her fingers grasped at the skin of his muscled back, goosebumps trailing behind her calloused fingers.

He turned her around and placed her arms above her head on the wall, his lips burning kisses onto her scars as he ripped the laced back of her dress apart. It fell to the floor in a heap, just as Catherine, dressed only in her underskirt pressed her naked torso to his and devoured his lips again. The cold limestone grazed her back as he shoved her against a wall, his hands hiking her underskirt up so he could grasp her thighs.

Her fingers tangled in his hair. His hands roamed over her scarred skin. Her thighs grasped him tightly to her. Sometime between her and there he'd thrown her onto the bed and ripped the rest of her underclothes off. She leaned forward and undid the laced front of his trousers, kissing along the hemline of his pants before wrenching them down and leaving him just as naked as she was.

The moonlight that filtered into her room cast an unearthly, ethereal glow over her skin. Her pale scars were more prominent, but her eyes were the most captivating. In the white light, her amber eyes glowed an almost golden color. She pressed her lips to his stomach, where a particularly nasty scar was. He shivered, inhaling sharply at the intimacy of such a gesture. Catherine wrapped her legs around his hips as he lifted her to move her further up the bed.

He thrusted into her without warning. She kissed him again to moan her moan of pain into his mouth. Her thighs squeezed his hips almost painfully hard as he moved in her, payback for entering her without preparation. They found their rhythm, Catherine moving and rotating her hips as he fucked her. He had to break the kiss so he could moan into her ear.

She grinned mischievously and used her grip with her thighs to flip him onto his back. "You think Tess hasn't taught me anything about taking a man over the edge?" She rode him, her hips churning and twisting like the angry waves on the mighty ocean. He yanked her head down so their mouths met as they moaned together. He dragged his fingernails on her back as he kissed a line down to the hollow of her throat.

Catherine braced a hand on the mattress and gritted her teeth together. Fire began to stir in every inch of her. Vincent lifted his hips to thrust into her and flipped them over again. His heart pounded the same drumbeat his hips made as he moved in her. They took turns fucking each other's brains out.

"Vincent," she hissed, "you almost there?"

"_Fuck_," he groaned. Their muscles seized as they moaned out each other's names. Their eyes were shut as they kissed, the waves of their orgasm spinning their bodies into oblivion.

They lay next to each other after they were finished. The ceiling above them spun as their heartbeats slowed back to their normal rate. The moon caught their sheen of sweat in its glow, ensnaring them with its beauty.

"How am I supposed to face tomorrow?" Catherine asked. "Knowing that I could be having _this_ instead."

"Do you want to run away for a while and get it out of our systems?"

"I don't think I'll ever get you out of my system," she replied turning her head to look at him. "I care about you. Much more than I should."

Vincent leaned over and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "We'll be the death of each other. One of us is going to get killed trying to save the other."

"We won't be able to stay with each other forever," Catherine remarked.

He clenched his jaw. "Let's not think about that, alright? Just for now?" She nodded and threw the sheets over their cooling bodies. They fell asleep without touching, mere inches between their open hands.

Death of each other, indeed.

**BAM SEXY TIMES**


	12. Ambivalence and Perception

Catherine awoke to the sun shining into her eyes. She blinked the spots away before realizing she wasn't clothed. It took her another pause to realize that she wasn't alone in her bed. Vincent's muscled torso was stretched across her mattress with his rather immodestly sized manhood hiding beneath the sheets. The scars slashed haphazardly on his torso were more prominent than the pale slices on Catherine's arms.

She smiled and let her tongue trace the painful reminders left permanently branded upon his otherwise flawless skin. Her fingers played over his godly physique, dancing over his chiseled abdominals and his imposing biceps. He shuddered a breath under her ministrations, obviously awake.

"Mmmm," Vincent moaned. Catherine grinned against his chest as she kissed a line up his sternum, over the column of his throat, and onto his jawline.

"Morning," she said as she ghosted her lips tantalizingly over his before getting out of bed.

"Really?" Vincent whined from his spot in bed. "You're going to strut that body of yours all around this room while I get to finish myself off?" Catherine laughed before she found herself pinned beneath him back on the bed. "I can't have you just once and be satisfied."

Catherine surprised him by pressing a tender kiss to his lips. "We can't just fuck each other into oblivion for the rest of eternity, Vincent, we both have responsibilities." She used her grip on his thighs to flip him onto his back so she could get off of the bed. "And right now, Vincent I must attend to _my _responsibilities." She got up again and began to dress herself.

"Anything in particular?" Vincent asked, sighing dejectedly before following suit and getting dressed as well.

Catherine spotted a scroll dropped on her dresser. "Tess must've snuck in here while we were sleeping." She opened it and read what her friend had to say.

"What is it?" he inquired.

"Lieutenant Lowen wishes to meet the vigilante."

"He doesn't know it's you, does he?"

"He knows that _you_ know who the vigilante is. You brought me before the Army, and he knows you're stationed here at the castle. Tess says that he sent a raven up to Magnus saying that he wanted to meet with you."

"I thought he wanted to meet with the vigilante, not me."

She rolled her eyes. "He's obviously setting a trap for him to capture you and then torture you for the vigilante's identity."

"Ah," Vincent grimaced, "Now that I think of it, that sounds like something he would do."

"Do you know him?"

"Best archer I've ever seen, but he's a squirrely son-of-a-bitch."

She arched an eyebrow. "Is he handsome?"

Vincent shrugged. "A little, I guess."

"So _very_ handsome, then."

"Unearthly so; probably one of the most beautiful to walk this earth."

"No reason to be jealous, right?" Catherine sauntered over to him and wrapped her arms around his torso. "I don't want to ruin a chance at gaining a powerful ally because the object of your manly affections is threatened."

"Making no promises, darling."

She grimaced. "I'm not exactly fond of pet names."

"Well," he said, grabbing her lion's mask from underneath her bed, "How about 'lioness'?" She voiced her approval by kissing him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Catherine and Vincent were escorted by foot soldiers from the entrance of the camp to Lieutenant Lowen's tent (which had formerly been Captain Bishop's tent almost a fortnight earlier). Catherine's first impression of Lowen was that he was strikingly handsome and that his polished armor gleamed in the sunlight which peeked through gaps in the canvas exterior. She also noticed that despite Vincent's bravado, Vincent actually harbored some respect for the man.

"Lieutenant Lowen sir," Vincent said, saluting Lowen as he got up to receive his guests.

Lowen smiled good-naturedly. "It's Captain now, but there's no need for formalities." He bowed in the direction of Catherine. "My lady. I wasn't expecting the honor of your presence."

"You requested to speak with Sir Keller. He is my guardsman."

"Your Grace, you'll forgive me if I say I had intended upon speaking with Vincent alone." While his tone remained light, it became rather patronizing, as if he were speaking to a three-year-old.

Catherine smiled tightly. "Whatever you wish to say to Sir Keller you will have to say in my presence."

Lowen inclined his head. "That may be so, Your Grace, but I merely intended to discuss a promotion for Vincent so that he may be reinstated as commander of his platoon. Nothing but military matters, which I'm sure bore you to no end."

"I would be pleased upon his behalf if I believed that offer of promotion was genuine, Sir Lowen." Catherine replied, her tone icy and dangerous.

Lowen cocked his head innocently to the side. "Whatever do you mean, princess?"

Catherine glanced at Vincent. "You're right, he _is _a squirrely one."

He was aghast at her bluntness. "My lady, I'm afraid I must object-,"

"You intended to ascertain the identity of the vigilante by luring Vincent to your tent and torturing it out of him. I would rather not see my guardsman harmed, so I decided to meet you myself."

Lowen apparently did not understand that she was revealing the identity of the vigilante to him. "And?" he asked.

Catherine sighed in irritation. "_I_ am the vigilante, Captain Lowen."

"She is, Gabriel," Vincent interjected. "I fought alongside her during the attack on the village nearly a fortnight ago."

Lowen eyed the princess with guarded suspicion. "If you truly were the vigilante, _which has yet to be seen_, why would you voluntarily meet with me?"

"I know that you harbor no good will towards the King. If you would be willing to assist in his overthrow, I would see to it that you are rewarded handsomely during my reign."

He waved his hand dismissively. "I have no want for a reward. I seek justice for the people I pledged to serve. My family toils in misery while our Lord Marks eats and whores his way through the South. How do I know that he'll be any better on the throne than your father?"

Catherine snorted. "Captain Lowen, I can assure you that no inch of Lord Marks' wrongfully entitled backside will ever touch the throne."

"What is it you want with me?"

"Just your support. I am planning to execute Lord Marks, Lord Muir, and the King. All have committed atrocious crimes and all will pay for said crimes publicly. What I need is the Army's allegiance to be able to handle any other sympathizers to the King."

Lowen whistled. "How do I know that _you'll _ be any better on the throne than your father?"

Vincent answered for her. "Her methods may seem extreme, sir, but her heart resides with the people she serves. You know I wouldn't stand with her if I didn't believe in her with every part of me."

Lowen smirked at Vincent. "I know from personal experience that your allegiance is hard to sway." He looked to Catherine. "I believe you. How many men do you need?"

She shook her head. "You misunderstand me. I don't need fighters, I need loyalty. As soon as the King is dead, I need your men to spread my message as quickly as they can."

"The East is ripe for rebellion," Vincent added.

Lowen stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I won't send men in uniform to the East, then. Once you take the throne, I'll send plain-clothed men to spread to word. The leader of the rebellion will probably want to meet with you in person to discuss your plans."

Catherine nodded. "Lucian Sind is purported to be a reasonable enough man. What I worry for are the men under him, who itch to fight and shed blood on the field of battle. Even if I manage to convince Lucian that the rebellion has nothing to fear under my reign, some of his soldiers may take it upon themselves to wreak senseless carnage. That's exactly what happened a fortnight ago."

Vincent looked to Lowen. "Once she takes the throne, I'll need a dozen or so men under my command to keep the peace in the East while the Queen negotiates with Lucian."

"What?" The princess demanded. "I need you _here_. Captain Lowen could manage the East just fine without you."

Lowen glanced warily between the two of them. "I'd actually concur with Vincent. What I'm worried for is the potential upheaval in the South by the wealthy lords and criminals alike. I would personally oversee the arrests of the monsters who oppressed my people for decades. Vincent is more than capable of commanding a battalion to quell the remaining rebels in the East."

"And who would keep the peace _here_?" Catherine demanded, rather frustrated that both of them had made their decisions without consulting her.

Vincent made a confused expression. "Well _you _would, obviously."

Lowen nodded. "Once again, I agree with Vincent. You're a skilled fighter and leader, and therefore qualified to command the rest of the Army from here."

"I got almost all of the men who swore to fight for me killed," Catherine protested. "Twenty-five soldiers, Lowen, all of them dead in less than an hour."

Lowen cocked his head to the side. "Did you not fight off nearly one-hundred enemies? Did you not manage to protect the village, even when your fighting force was nearly a third less than what you had planned for? When you command an Army, you cannot shirk back from battle for fear of losing your men. Death is a part of war, Your Grace, and it's best that you come to terms with it."

Catherine's eyes flashed cold. "I've come to terms with death many times over, Captain. But it is normally I who causes it. The men in this Army will be soon swearing their lives to serving their Queen, and as their Queen I refuse to march them off to battle without having the gall to fight alongside them."

"Princess, you need to understand that as Queen you must maintain a certain…image, lest your subjects hear of your brand of justice."

"Those who give the orders for execution should also swing the killing sword, Captain," the princess replied. "My subjects will hear me sentence the King to death and then see me render his head from his neck before I take on the title as Queen."

Lowen snorted. "Were you a man, m'lady, I'd have pegged you for brave knight off to slay an entire horde of enemies."

Catherine laughed. "I already do that, my dear Captain," she flicked a finger to ping resoundingly on Lowen's metal chest plate, "only I don't hide behind armor to exact my justice. Good day, Sir Lowen." With a courteous nod in his direction, she swept from his grand tent with Vincent trailing at her heels.

The sun shone its early spring glare upon the Army's camp. Soldiers milled about sweaty and breathless, as their morning combat training had just finished. Most did not wear their armor and instead opted for lightly woven tunics and trousers. One of the five soldiers that had survived after fighting alongside Catherine and Vincent caught them leaving the camp. While his comrades merely averted their gazes in the presence of the princess, he bowed deeply and greeted her warmly.

Once Vincent and Catherine were safely out of the camp's hearing range, he walked alongside her as he questioned her.

"What in the hell got into you back there?" he asked softly.

"I don't know what you mean," she replied, her emotions veiled as they tread upon the road which snaked itself around the mountain and up to the castle. Gravel crunched and mud squelched morosely underneath their boots as they ascended the trail.

"Catherine, you've never doubted yourself like this before. The way you talked about your victory against the rebels led me to believe you thought of it as a failure. But you and I both know that those twenty-five men died so that hundreds of villagers could live. I was under the impression that you were prepared to lead the kingdom from here."

"I was under the impression that I wouldn't be alone," she countered, absentmindedly fiddling with the clasp on her cloak as they ambled alone.

"You won't be. You'll have your sister, Tess, and Magnus to guide you."

"How in the world am I supposed to focus on running my kingdom while I'll be worrying about you?" Catherine asked, sighing.

He furrowed his brow. "I don't understand."

"You said it yourself: You'll take off for the East as soon as I take the throne."

He pulled her aside so that he could look her in the eyes. "Catherine, you and I both know that the East will need stabilizing after you overthrow your father."

"And what if it becomes too unstable for you to handle, hmm? What if you're slain whilst I'm getting primped and coifed in preparation for some insipid coronation ceremony? If you get in trouble, I'm not going to be just a ten minute's ride away. I could not abide losing you when I could have done something to prevent it."

Vincent laughed. "I'm not a child, you know. You're the one who sent me to fend off fifty rebel men with my bare hands, remember? You've _seen_ me fight. Besides, we both know that we'll have to part ways eventually."

"I'm not afraid of parting ways with you. I'm afraid for your life. What if someone finds out what you are and kills you for it?"

He took her small, calloused hands in his large ones and cradled them gently. "If I die, my lady, I'll fight my way through the pits of hell to stand by your side once more." He dropped her hands and walked with her up the road again.

"It will be like parting with a limb," Catherine mused as she matched his stride. "We've only been together for a couple of months, and yet I find myself struggling to remember what it was like without you here."

"Must have been rather boring without me," Vincent jested.

"Oh yes, the goings-on of the kingdom are indeed quite dull affairs. That's the only thing I'm worried about."

"And what would that be, again?"

She smiled. "Having to sit at the supper table with my councilmen lecturing me about diplomacy."

"I disagree, I believe that you have the capacity to be quite civil…except when you're dealing with Lord Marks."

She grimaced. "I _did_ threaten him last night, didn't I?" She brightened instantly. "Oh well! He'll be dead soon enough."

"Ah, ah, ah," he tsked, "don't forget that you promised me the honor of beheading him."

They walked the rest of the way up the castle road holding hands as the sun shone upon the mountain face. Clouds drifted aimlessly as they rose higher on the mountain. From where they were, they could see the village below them bursting with vitality. Little dots of people and horse-drawn carts ambled along in the streets as the smoke from fires intertwined itself with the clouds above.

"Look at that, Catherine," Vincent said as they walked in step, their fingers laced together. She looked towards the valley below.

"What of it?"

"Everything going on down there…all of those people…they wouldn't be alive if it hadn't been for you. You realize that, don't you?"

She nodded. "I just hope that someday they'll have half as much love for me as I have for them."

He smirked. "Take it from me, m'lady, you're easy to love."

"Don't say things you don't understand."

"You have strength in your heart where love has lodged itself."

"Don't say things I don't understand."

"Love for whom, may I ask?"

"May I answer that just as ambivalently as I feel?" Catherine replied, staring off into the distance from the road as they dawdled along. "Love for my people? Yes. Love for my sister, for Magnus, and for Tess? Absolutely."

"Love for me?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I don't know how love is supposed to feel. Can I answer that question after I'm done trying to pull my kingdom out of the reaches of hell?"

Vincent nodded. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."

**I'm sorry about the long wait and the fact that y'all just got a filler chapter. I took my AP test this morning (and kicked its ass), and my PreCalc final is next week. Jazz band and swim team are all done (praise Jesus). My other clubs shouldn't interfere, though, so I should be able to update AT LEAST once a week from now till summer. Summer will bring daily updates (YAY!).**


	13. Wanton Desires

Vincent always loved running alongside Catherine. Well, technically he had to run _below_ her as the thatched straw and driftwood roofs of the houses in the village wouldn't support his weight. He watched her as she flipped and somersaulted over gaps and streets. She would leap and spin in midair to change direction, just as a dancer would to meet her partner. Even though it was just the moon's light to guide her way, Catherine never had fear of falling. He had no trouble keeping up with her as she flew, because the Beast had a few tricks of his own.

Catherine hadn't indicated a particular target for tonight's escapade. Some nights she just went out to taste the freedom, other nights she followed her gut instinct that something was arising in the village. It was as if she had some ethereal, intangible connection to the people she served. Vincent loved that about her. Her undying devotion for her people, her willingness to fight for them without hesitation, with no desire of recognition or fame: it struck a chord inside of his heart.

It was there in those muddy streets hiding behind thatched houses from the pale moonlight did Vincent understand that he had fallen for his lioness. The realization struck him like a blow to the gut, winding him and almost making him reel backwards from the force of it. He wanted to clutch at his chest to slow his hammering heart.

And when he looked back up at the still running Catherine, it was as if he was looking at her through new eyes. The way she used her momentum to dance off of shingles on her toes and the way she held out her arms as she changed direction as if to embrace the night were things he hadn't noticed before. She never, not once, looked backwards to see if he was still there running with her. She just always knew he was there.

He also realized the idiocy of his situation. How in the world was he supposed to manage this? Vincent certainly couldn't serve her forever: they both had duties to attend to. Catherine would take the throne soon enough, and he would be leading a battalion to help stabilize the East. Catherine had already expressed anxiety at the prospect of separation.

Vincent decided that he couldn't possibly tell her how he felt. He couldn't afford to distract Catherine from her responsibilities, nor could he impose himself upon her heart. She cared for him and enjoyed his company, that was obvious, but he couldn't allow her to love him. She couldn't keep him as an affair, someone to sneak off to during her reign. Once Catherine took the throne, there would be no place for him by her side.

This understanding tore him in half. He only had perhaps a few weeks left before Catherine would be forced to kill the King, with or without Lord Muir and Lord Marks present. He could almost count down the number of days he had left with her.

All of his plans of leading a battalion to the East fell away as his only desire was to stay by her side. But that would be impossible. Vincent had a duty to his fellow men, a duty that should have overpowered his feelings for the princess. But it didn't, rather his love for her encompassed his feelings of loyalty to the Army.

Suddenly, Catherine changed direction and sprinted over the rooftops towards the woods in the north, the tips of her toes barely gracing the shingles or strands of woven hay as she leapt from house to house. Vincent ran beside her to hear the peals of laughter emanating from beneath Catherine's mask. From joy or madness, Vincent could not tell, as she pumped her arms faster and faster. It took him a moment to realize that she was trying to race him to the edge of the village.

A mistake on her part to say the least, as the Beast zoomed to the end of the row of houses on the outskirts of the city. He stopped and waited for her to reach the end of the houses at her own pace. When she got to the last rooftop, instead of stopping as he expected her to, she leapt into the air.

She did not touch the ground as his arms reached out to catch her. He held her to him and spun them around, their cloaks flowing in the breeze as Catherine's giggles followed.

Though they were so close to the village, they might as well have been in the middle of the Eastern Plains. Everyone in the houses around them was fast asleep, the toll of their working life exhausted them.

Vincent lifted Catherine's mask from her face and kissed her with a stupid grin marking his face. She returned the kiss as she clutched him closer to her. Their hearts thundered wildly in their chests as their hands roamed freely, without fear of rejection or being caught. Their kisses were wild and feverish, as if they were drowning and the only way to breathe was through each other. They were desperate for each other.

Both of them knew that their time together was limited. Their stolen kisses were just that: stolen, plucked from the hands of time so that they could have more of it. Every breath they shared, every understanding glance, and every synchronized heartbeat became something to cherish. Vincent could taste the sadness on her lips, could see the heaviness in her eyes and the weight on her shoulders.

And perhaps this was the closest Catherine was ever going to come to being in love. Perhaps it was all that she deserved. She had killed so many in the name of justice but had yet to kill the one man that justice truly belonged to. A few short weeks of happiness with complete and utter contentment with Vincent should have been enough, but she wasn't satisfied. Not in the least.

Anytime she looked toward the future, all she saw was herself sitting alone upon the throne while everyone she cared about eventually left her to fend for herself. Ruling alone had never been a problem for her, but it was the prospect of _living_ alone that ate her. Catherine's feelings for him began to grow dangerously intense.

How could she focus upon ruling a nation when the love of her life fought far off in the East?

And that's when the realization struck her: she loved him.

"What's wrong?" Vincent asked, pulling away from her lips.

"Nothing, it's just I'd rather continue this perhaps a little farther away from other people," she answered, nodding towards the wood a couple hundred yards from them. Vincent grinned and sped them into a grove, where he pinned her against a pine and resumed kissing her.

Catherine decided that she couldn't tell him, not now, not ever. The decision tore her in half but she knew it was the only way he could move on with his life. If he knew how she felt about him, he'd never leave for the East and fight with his brothers. He'd want to stay with her throughout her reign as her guardsman.

She couldn't stand the thought of him being labeled as her consort. They could never be together without a veil of secrecy flowing over their heads. Sneaking about the castle as the years wore on would become more difficult as they aged. No, growing old apart from each other was the only solution. She decided not to dwell upon it as Vincent's hands roamed freely over her.

They shed no clothes there in the wood. The trees, standing as tall as mountains and yet resembling daggers sharper than anything else, hid them from prying eyes. The warm spring's wind filtered between boughs and under branches, through needles and around trunks. Birds flitted from nest to nest as squirrels scurried on paths made of intertwining branches high above. Small seedlings were beginning to sprout underfoot; bursting up out of the rich soil to taste the tainted air.

Though the wood was perhaps only half of a mile from the castle and the village, it had no trace, no hint of human inhabitants. A pale, silvery glow sang its way through the trees to dance on the forest floor. Fallen pine needles softened any sound, just as snow would. For all intents and purposes, they were alone.

It was only when the wind filtering through the trees carried a hint of foreboding did they finally snap out of it. Nervous goose bumps broke out on Catherine's arms as she lowered her mask so it covered her face once more. Vincent pulled his hood over his head as she reached for her swords.

"Do you feel that, m'lady?" he asked, his ears straining for anything out of the ordinary. Sweat coated her palms as she gripped the pommels of her blades.

"Can you hear anything?"

"Three men: armored and heading north."

"Towards us?"

He nodded and lowered his voice. "We'll have to climb." He glanced towards the massive trunks of the coniferous army surrounding them.

Catherine had to get a running start in order to jump high enough to be able to catch a branch in her grasp, but Vincent had no trouble springing up and grabbing ahold. "Wipe that fucking smug grin off of your face or I'll kick it off for you," she hissed in effort as she pulled herself up to nestle in the pine branches. They peered out into the darkness, searching for the first glimpse of the men Vincent had spoken of.

Though Catherine's ears detected nothing, Vincent could hear the subtle crunch of dead pine needles beneath the leather soles of men's boots and the creaking of metal joints as their armor chafed against itself. Once they came into view, Catherine could see that there were indeed three men, donned with armor that had House Chandler's sigil of a roaring lion on their breastplates.

"They're on my father's Kingsguard," she whispered to Vincent.

One of the men surveyed the surrounding area with his cold, calculating gaze. Their armor was merely a formality, just a uniform that identified them as men of the Kingsguard. While men in His Army were made to wear their armor at all hours of the day to get them used to moving around with the extra weight, the Kingsguard had no practical reason.

"She ain't in no fuggin' forest, tha's fo' bloody sure," drawled one of them, his speech almost impossible to understand under his heavy accent.

"His Majesty has surmised the vigilante probably lives in these woods, so if you know what's good for you, you'd shut your fucking mouth and _look_ for her," his companion snapped.

"Didn't she kill half of that rebel horde on her own?" the third asked.

"Gutted 'em, more like. Ain't never seen so much bloody carnage with me own two eyes."

"How are we to take her on?"

The irritable one rolled his eyes. "No way some slut could do what the rumors say. The mystique of her abilities is just some bullshit mummies tell to their little brats so they don't misbehave." Catherine clung tightly to the branches as she listened to them talk about her. "Listen, the sooner we catch this bitch, the sooner the King can pay us."

The one with the heavy accent whistled. "50,000 gold pieces fo' 'er 'ead." Her father must have put a bounty out on the vigilante.

The short one elbowed his companion. "Maybe He'll let us have a little fun with his daughters."

His fellow guardsman guffawed. "I'd like to loosen up that uptight princess." Catherine gripped Vincent's arm as a warning, holding him back from jumping down and ripping those men apart. His eyes flashed yellow as he struggled to calm himself.

"Not now," Vincent hissed, promising that he would defend her honor on a later date.

"That guard of hers wouldn't let us touch a hair on her precious little head," one of them added. Vincent's attention snapped back towards them again.

"And how do you figure that?" his companion asked.

"Follows the bitch around like a lost puppy dog. Gods know he wouldn't let us fuck the woman he loves." Catherine tried to gauge a reaction off of Vincent's impassive expression.

The grumpy one stepped between them. "I don't think the vigilante would have stuck around with you two yabbering on about fucking a princess. Let's move out."

Catherine and Vincent sat in silence as the men of the Kingsguard sauntered out of earshot. The night seemed to have settled in around them: the squirrels, birds, and other vermin had tucked themselves into their nests. The moon hung motionlessly in a cloudless sky.

She jumped down first, somersaulting several times to slow her descent. Vincent landed on all fours next to her.

She laughed. "I had a cat who moved like you do."

"A cat?" He grinned. "Are you calling me a pussy?"

"Hey! I was complementing you." She poked his side playfully. Her smile faded as she looked into his eyes. "Is what they said true?"

"What?"

"Do you love me?"

"That's honestly the only thing you care about from everything they said?"

"That's not an answer."

For one, painful moment, Vincent contemplated telling her the truth. He'd sweep her into his arms and tell her he loved her with everything he had and never let her go. And then every reason not to came crashing down upon him like a torrential rain.

"No," the lie choked him, coming out like bile that twisted and seethed. Her expression cut him worse than a thousand enemy swords. "I care for you, Catherine." She clenched her jaw and hardened her face.

"As I care for you, brave sir knight," she replied. He searched her eyes for something else, for just a hint that her heart harbored more for him than what she was letting on. Her mask was impenetrable.

"The Kingsguardsmen mentioned that they have a bounty on your head, lioness."

She raised an eyebrow. "So? I'll be their Queen soon enough."

"When?"

"Soon." Her cryptic replies did not seem to satisfy him. "Why? Are you that eager to command a battalion to stabilize the East?"

"I have a duty to this kingdom."

"You have a duty to _me_," she snapped.

He shook his head. "Don't make me choose between you and my brothers. For the love of the _gods_, don't make me choose."

"Why not? You're going to have to anyway."

Vincent looked at the ground under her feet. "Because I know that I would choose you if you asked me to, regardless of any love I had for my brothers."

"Then I will not ask you to choose." The sadness in her voice was hidden beneath her flat, otherwise emotionless tone.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

They fell asleep with Vincent's head resting on Catherine's stomach. She absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair as he snored. As the pale light shone upon his face, she let her fingertips grace over his jagged scar. _He really is beautiful_, she mused as she caressed his face.

A tear leaked down her cheek as the prospect of losing him filtered through her mind. She looked upon his sleeping face and promised him: "Even if I am supposed to be ruling this kingdom, I will fight through the hordes of hell to keep you safe." _Because I am wholly, completely, and madly in love with you_, she wanted to add.

It was then did she understand that she would never love anyone with the same wild passion that she loved Vincent. He was her sun and stars, her center of gravity, and her rock. He kept her tethered to the earth when all she wanted to do was float away. He tore down the walls she had so carefully constructed over the years: breaking away her defenses with his bare hands, tearing down her barriers until his hands were raw and bloody.

She fell asleep going over the reasons why she loved him, and constantly reminding herself that she couldn't tell him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

_They ran together with their true faces twisted into gleeful grins. Catherine's maw opened to let out a roar that shook the boughs of the trees in the wood just outside of the castle. Her lion's body catapulted her effortlessly over the forest floor as she wove between live trees and over dead ones. The Beast ran right beside her on two legs as she ran on all fours. _

_ They both had golden eyes that reflected the moonlight with an eerie, alien glow as they flew through the night. Neither was more powerful than the other: where one was large and impressive, the other was small and agile. _

_ The Beast and Lioness were a fearsome sight, indeed. _

_ Smoke rose from the castle mountain as the crackling from the flames began to resemble the sound of crashing waves from the oceans to the West. The castle was now nothing more than a gigantic fireplace: its inhabitants and furnishings were kindling as they fed the blaze. _

_ In contrast, shouts of joy arose over the village: "THE KING IS DEAD! LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!" Men and women alike drank in the streets, toasting their good fortune towards the lioness who had watched over them for all those years. While the King had kept them silent under his cloak of fear and corruption, their hearts truly belonged to their new Queen, who had revealed herself to also be the Vigilante. _

_ Catherine spoke to him, but what came out of her mouth was not the roar of a lion that he had expected. "Do you hear them calling my name? My people are free. We are free." _

_ "Yes, lioness," Vincent replied, agreeing with her completely. Suddenly, she stopped running and turned to face him. He blinked: in one second she was a lioness in her truest form, and the next she was the Queen, as naked as the day she was born. The light from the blazing castle turned her amber eyes into pools of liquid gold. Moonlight wove itself into the brown pigments of her skin, and made her look as if she were the one who glowed. Her dark hair fell in black, glossy waves over her shoulders. _

_ She reached a scarred hand out to caress the Beast's equally grotesque face. "I am free. Free to love whom I love with every fiber of my being." Catherine's eyes glowed momentarily before she crushed her lips to his. Her tongue glanced upon his lower lip before she nipped it with her teeth. He moaned with her, his hands reaching down to her dripping pussy and let his fingers work their magic. _

_ Catherine wrenched his head back by the tufts of hair on the back of his head. "I want you to fuck me," she hissed, licking and sucking the column of his throat. Vincent obliged and slammed her into the nearest tree as he thrust into her. She closed her eyes and bent her arms above her head so she could grasp the tree as he fucked her. _

_ The bark cut into the flesh of her back, but she paid the pain no mind as Vincent's throbbing cock reached to her depths and set off a cataclysmic reaction inside of her. The same inferno that was consuming the castle nearly half a mile away began to burn inside of the tips of her toes and fingers. His sex was better than sin itself, like a devil hiding inside of a whiskey barrel for his next victim. _

_ She arched her back towards him so he could pepper kisses over her sternum and nip at her collarbone. Her thighs gripped him like a rider would grip a wild stallion: not expecting for control, but just enough to stay on. Her inner walls clenched his manhood as he moved within her. _

_ Vincent gritted his teeth and failed to choke back his moans as he kissed her tender flesh. It was there, in the forest under the moonlight, where their hearts bared themselves to be seen without fear of judgment or what was to come. They clung to each other, not because they were afraid of loss, but because they feared they could float away if they were not tethered to one another. _

_ They came together. Their mouths had found each other once again and allowed them to shudder through their climaxes as one-_

He woke with a shuddering gasp, clenching at the threads of Catherine's linen sheets. His heart pounded like the striking of a smith's hammer against an anvil. Sweat poured off of him in rivulets as he drew in air through clenched teeth. Though what he had just seen was far from a nightmare, his cock was painfully hard.

Vincent quietly disentangled himself from Catherine's embrace before tiptoeing silently out of her bedchambers and down the spiral staircase. All he needed was a reprieve from her intoxicating presence. He had half a mind to race back up the stairs, prod the princess awake, and take her in a manly fashion till dawn. He quickly shook those thoughts from his head as he wandered the corridors.

His heart slowed back down to its normal pace. He understood that his urges would intensify for a while after he and Catherine went their separate ways. Hell, they were bad enough as it was, even with her falling asleep in his arms every other night. Sometimes he struggled to get her expression at the moment of her climax out of his mind.

Before he had time to smother yet another flame of desire, his entire world went blank.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

When Catherine awoke, she immediately became aware of the fact that she was alone in her bed. Sunlight quietly trickled through the ajar balcony door to dance over the stone floor. Birds chirped cheerfully as they lounged around on her balcony, enjoying the warm spring morning. The bedchambers felt oddly empty without the gigantic form of Vincent in them.

"Vincent?" Catherine said, calling out for him only to have her own voice reflect back at her from the cold stone walls.

No amount of calling could disguise the fact that Vincent was nowhere to be found.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

When Vincent awoke, he found himself in excruciating pain. He had been chained to a wooden chair, both his arms and legs had been bound to the cool wood. His wrists were enclosed in iron shackles with spikes running a ring around the inside of the cuffs, and any time he struggled against his restraints, the spikes would dig into the tender flesh of his wrists.

Freezing water dripped from the cavernous ceiling to land on the bare flesh of his torso, feeling like ice on his feverish skin. The iron bars of the cell made three walls around him and jutted out from the cave wall behind him. He could hear the heartbeats of people in the cell to his left and right, but he was stuck staring at the stone hallway in front of him.

There were no windows or skylights, so the only break in the darkness was the single, solitary torch burning lazily from its place on the wall. He couldn't gauge what time of day it was, whether it was even daytime, or how long he'd been unconscious. He strained his already heightened senses to reach for anything tangible: a sound or scent that could lend any clues to his location.

"Keller?" A voice asked, cracking and soft as if he hadn't had a drink in years.

Vincent instantly recognized that voice. "Captain Bishop?"

"You stupid bastard, Keller, what in the fuck did you do to get here?" Joe was in the cell to Vincent's right. He crawled right up to the bars so Vincent could see him. His beard was matted and scraggly, his eyes were bloodshot and wild, and his face was hollow and gaunt.

Vincent shrugged. "Went for a walk in the halls. I was grabbed from behind."

Joe slumped his shoulders and banged his forehead on the iron bars. "Keller, I'm so sorry. This is my fault."

Vincent inclined an eyebrow. "How so? "

Joe leveled his gaze with Vincent's, and it was only then did Vincent understand that the man had been broken down over the weeks he had been missing. "I told the Kingsguard that you knew who the vigilante was."


	14. Sacrifices and Rescues

**AN: SCHOOL'S OUT FOR SUMMAH! Puh-raise Jesus. So I know y'all are worried about poor, captured Vincent. And Catherine probably feels abandoned. But don't worry, I'll bring back Vincent to his normal, badass self in no time. **

When Catherine came down for breakfast, she was fuming. She'd dressed in a frenzy, and hadn't even bothered to braid her hair before storming down her staircase. She'd been so focused on making a scene in the dining hall she didn't see Magnus and plowed him over.

"By the _gods_, girl, you need to watch where you're going. And look at the state of you!" Magnus saw her clenched jaw and gently lifted her chin to meet her eyes. "What's wrong? Where's Vincent?"

"I was on my way to ask the King the same question," she hissed. "I awoke to find that my guardsman had abandoned his post."

Magnus took her hand in his. "I don't want to cruel, child, but perhaps he left-,"

"He wouldn't have," she snapped. "He wouldn't have left me, I know it." Catherine fell silent as another servant passed them in the hall.

"Who could have taken him, then? He's not necessarily the easiest man to kidnap. Unless, of course he was knocked unconscious and dragged through these halls. That wouldn't have been an easy feat, either."

"Well he wouldn't have left me," she repeated rather stubbornly.

"I understand you're upset, my dear, but you cannot attack the King because he _might_ have been involved in your lover's disappearance. You have to plan out every little detail, even the placement of his personal guardsmen. You'd be set upon by every knight in the castle, unarmed and without support."

"I don't care. I have to get Vincent back."

Magnus slapped her, not hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough to get her attention. Catherine grasped her cheek where his hand had marked. "_I_ care, you reckless fool. I love you more than I will _ever_ love _anything_ in this life. And if you're set upon attacking the King alone and without a plan just because your precious knight-in-dented-armor is missing, _I_ won't be privy to it."

Catherine stared at him aghast, and it was as if she had regained her sight. "Magnus, I'm so sorry," she said, "I don't know what came over me."

"Don't be sorry, Catherine, _think_. You're one of the most brilliant strategists I've ever seen; it's probably the reason you're still alive after so many years of slicing men twice your size in half. But not an ounce of strategizing went into what you were about to do."

"I love him, Magnus," she said quietly.

"The King?"

"No, idiot, I hate that man."

"He's your father."

"Whose side are you on? _You're_ more my father, anyway."

"So you mean Vincent, then."

"What?"

"You love Vincent." Magnus said, those grey eyes of his boring into her amber ones. "Good gods, you _love _him."

"Yes," she answered simply, the truth of her answer ringing through the halls.

He shook his head sadly. "You _idiot._"

"What am I supposed to do?"

"For now, go to breakfast. The King is expecting you." She nodded and started making her way down to the dining hall before Magnus called to her. "He loves you as well."

"I know," she replied over her shoulder. When Catherine walked into the dining hall, she was met with an unpleasant surprise: Lord Marks and Lord Muir sat next to the King as they ate breakfast. Only Lord Marks and Lord Muir rose as she entered the hall, whilst Heather and the King stayed seated.

King Chandler looked up from his plate with false cheer and an eerie smile as he gestured to the seat next to Lord Marks. "Sit, daughter, next to your betrothed." Catherine nodded obediently, fighting the urge to lunge at him and wring his royal neck.

"My love, how good it is to see you," Lord Marks said, greeting her and pulling her chair out for her to sit. "Where's your watchdog?" he asked, obviously in reference to the lack of Vincent's presence.

"Yes my daughter, where _is_ that lumbering buffoon?" The King asked. The way he said it suggested that he knew _exactly_ where Vincent was. "I don't pay for guardsmen to just walk off of the mountain."

Catherine shrugged as she allowed Lord Marks to push her chair back in. "Perhaps I just _repel_ them," she jested, challenging him to a duel of wit.

Lord Marks cut in. "Well, you shan't have need for guardsmen once we are wed. _I _will protect you, my love, never you fear." Heather snorted into her eggs but quickly concealed it as a sneeze as the King sent her a disapproving look.

"Speaking of weddings," Lord Muir piped up, "I believe that we should hold it in my guest hall. We have more than enough room, and we aren't in such close proximity to thieves and whores as you are here."

The King shook his head. "Nonsense. A royal wedding must always take place at the royal palace. Both Lord Marks and Princess Catherine shall be coroneted the next day as the rulers of the realm."

Lord Marks nodded respectfully. "I agree, but you must admit, Your Grace, that the proximity to the cesspool down below does not make the wedding very _auspicious." _

The King stroked his chin thoughtfully. "The gods may require a sacrifice."

"Of what?" Heather asked warily.

"Not what. Whom. A criminal of the most wicked kind and an enemy to the crown."

One of the men of the Kingsguard stepped forward. "The vigilante, Your Grace. We will burn her like a witch until her foul ashes can be scattered."

"But you continue to fail in capturing her, brave sir Knight," the King countered, not even turning to face his guardsman.

"We could round up every woman accused of being the vigilante. One of them is bound to be her," another guardsman offered.

Catherine snuck a significant look at Magnus, who stood behind Heather's chair. His eyes were wide in disbelief at what he was hearing from the King. Though he had suggested insane things before, this was beyond comprehension.

"Father, I'm afraid I must object," Catherine said. "Virtually _anyone_ could be accused of being the vigilante. To burn them all would just be a massacre."

"And how else would you suggest we deal with this menace, dearest one?" snapped the King.

"By putting away the monsters she's killing. Build proper prisons and a better justice system-,"

The King slammed his fist on the table, causing everyone but Catherine to jump in surprise, "Are you suggesting that _my_ justice is not sufficient? Do I not dole out punishments to those deserving of them?"

"You castrate thieves and frauds. You have prostitutes raped for refusing services. What you do is not _justice_. Yes, the vigilante's methods are extreme, but at least they're for murderers and rapists."

The King cocked his head to the side. "If I did not know how truly weak and pitiful you really are, I would think that _you _were the vigilante. If you were anyone other than the mewling bitch I'd know you to be, I'd have you tried as the menace herself."

Catherine clamped her jaw shut, for once thankful that her father thought so low of her as to think she was physically incapable of being the vigilante. She'd never hated him so much before as she hated him now. Her hands longed to reach for a sword and cut his head clean off.

The King looked to Lord Marks and Lord Muir. "I agree with my guardsman. If we sacrifice all of the accused, at least one of them must be the vigilante. The rest of them are vermin anyway."

_And you are their King, _she thought spitefully, _so what does that make you?_

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Joe leveled his gaze with Vincent's, and it was only then did Vincent understand that the man had been broken down over the weeks he had been missing. "I told the Kingsguard that you knew who the vigilante was."

Vincent laughed. "What makes you think that I would know?"

Joe squinted at him in the torchlight. "I'm no moron, Keller. You're the one who captured her and brought her to our camp. You _know_ the woman who killed my brother. Who deserved it, from what I understand."

"You believe her now?"

"My brother liked to do two things: make money and fuck whores. When someone got in his way, he killed them for it. Doesn't mean I'll miss him any less. I just understand why the vigilante did what she did."

"Then why give me up?"

Joe eyed him warily. "I've been cut and burned every which way. The only way I got to keep my cock was if I gave you up. I'm sorry."

Vincent laughed. "It's alright, honestly."

"Your wrists say otherwise," he quipped, pointing to Vincent's bleeding wrists, a result of the spiked restraints he'd been placed in. Every time Vincent shivered because of the water dripping on him from the ceiling, he'd jerk against the spikes. "They put you in those because they know you'd be able to break free of regular shackles," Joe said.

"I guessed that," Vincent replied, watching as the blood from his wrists dripped onto the floor.

"Doesn't it hurt?"

Vincent shook his head. "I have something else to occupy my thoughts."

"Something or some_one_?"

He gave his former commander a look, but changed the subject. "Where are we, anyway? Under the mountain?"

Joe shook his head. "We're still in the castle, dear boy. Underneath it, actually."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know about this place."

"_No one _knows of this place, save the King and His guardsmen. We're the enemies of the crown, remember?"

Suddenly, Vincent heard the opening of a heavy iron door down the hall and following footsteps. Joe slunk back to the shadows of his cell, just as a rat would flee from the cook entering the kitchen. A shadow of a man and his sword wrought its ghost upon the floor in the torchlight.

"'Ello, Knight Keller," greeted the Kingsguardsman. He was one of the men Vincent and Catherine had spied upon the night before, with his heavy accent and polished armor. "'Ow are your wrists?"

"Just fine, thank you."

The guardsman smiled toothily and unlocked Vincent's cell door. "I 'eard from a lil' birdie tha' you 'ave somethin' I want."

"Astonishing good looks?" Vincent jibed.

The guardsman smiled that foul smile of his again and sauntered over to Vincent. He pinned Vincent's forearms to the arms of the chair, which caused his wrists to be pressed down onto the sharp iron spikes. His vision swam with tears of pain as blood spurted from his wrists. He did not scream as his captor leaned in to breathe his hot breath on Vincent's face. "I 'eard from a lil' birdie tha' you know who the vigilante is."

"Why- does everyone say that?" Vincent retorted through the waves of pain that crashed into him. His captor released his hands so Vincent could move his wrists from the spikes underneath.

"My lil' birdie says you was the one who caugh' the bitch in the firs' place."

Vincent let his eyes glow golden yellow, causing the guardsman to reel backwards in surprise. "Perhaps your little birdie just wanted to save his cock. And if you want to save yours, you'd best leave me be."

"What in the hell-,"

"Don't conceive for a second that you can control me," Vincent snarled. "I am Vincent Keller, son of Nyssa and Michael Keller, Knighted under the glorious name of House Chandler. I am the product of hell itself. I have fought against legions of my enemies with merely a scratch to mark my victory." He leaned forward to allow the torchlight to throw his scarred features into sharp relief. "Run along, motherfucker."

The guardsman almost forgot to lock Vincent's cell door on his way out. He fumbled with his keys as he turned the solid lock with shaking hands before stomping out of the dungeons. Joe crawled to the bars again.

"He's only going to return with his companions, you know," Joe told him warningly.

Vincent shrugged. "Let him. I'm itching for a good fight." He continued to search for a way to rip off his chains without ripping his hands off.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Catherine barged into JT's tent just as he was wrapping the sprained elbow of one of the trainees. He just about dropped the roll of gauze he'd been using in surprise. "Your Grace, my apologies, allow me to finish my work." Catherine nodded and watched him hastily wrap up the soldier's elbow. Once JT had sent him away, he turned to face Catherine.

"What do you need?" he asked wearily. His eyes squinted skeptically as he saw that she was alone. "Where's Vincent?"

"Gone," she replied simply, "someone kidnapped him."

"Of _course_," JT spat, "that's just _fucking _magnificent." He sauntered over to Catherine and pressed his finger to her sternum. "You stupid, stupid girl. You _swore_ that you'd die before you let him get hurt. You _swore_. _Damn_ it." JT's foul language didn't bother Catherine as much as his visible worry did. It was obvious to her that JT's love for Vincent was just as consuming as hers was.

"JT I cannot watch out for him when he goes off on his own."

"How do you know that? How do you know that someone didn't drag him out of _your_ bed, out of your lover's embrace?"

"I would have awoken if Vincent had been kidnapped from my bedchambers, JT. He must've gone for a walk around the castle while I was asleep. I just need to know who did it."

"Have you tried your father?" JT suggested sarcastically.

"He's involved, yes, but I know that he would have had the ability to capture Vincent. He's not the easiest to take down, you know."

JT snapped his fingers just as she said that. "His guardsmen, Catherine."

Catherine sighed. "I'm such an idiot. Thank you, JT," she said and made her way to leave before he called after her.

"If he dies because of you, Catherine," JT warned, "I'm no good at fighting, but I am _excellent _with poison." She nodded, his threat merely a product of his worry for his lost friend.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Vincent was able to sleep for a while before the person in the cell on his left awoke him by throwing a pebble at his face. "_Fuck_, man," Vincent swore, "can't you see a soldier just trying to get some shuteye, eh?"

"I'm no man, soldier," a deep, rough woman's voice responded from the darkness. The torchlight did not reach far enough into the cell for him to see its inhabitant. "I fear you may be our only hope for survival."

"'Our'? How many of you are there?"

"Perhaps a dozen women, falsely accused by those we've wronged and tried in the royal court. His Majesty has found us all guilty."

"Guilty of what, may I ask?" Vincent inquired, peering into the darkness.

He heard to shuffling of dirt and the ringing of chains before she appeared to stand in the torchlight. She was one of the tallest women he'd ever seen. Even in her rags, Vincent could see her muscled arms and legs. Half of her face was twisted and red, the skin roiling like a boiling pot of soup. She had been burned.

"We have all been accused of being the vigilante, brave sir Knight. Frankly, I wish I was, so I may find the strength to rip these men apart."

"The vigilante is not in these prison cells, m'lady," Vincent assured her.

"I am a blacksmith, Knight. I'd prefer to be known by my profession rather than by what sits between my legs." She was no beauty in any respect, but she had a brutish strength about her that reminded him of his fellow knights.

"My apologies, blacksmith. How fares the rest of the accused? Are they alive?"

The blacksmith smiled wryly, her burned face twisting into the grin. "We are a hardy bunch, Knight. We are being fed more frequently in these dungeons than we had been in the village." She eyed him. "Tell me, Knight: Is she as magnificent as everyone says she is?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The vigilante. I know that you know who she is."

Vincent nodded. "She is more than magnificent. She's the best fighter I've ever seen, and her heart is bound solely to the people she protects."

The blacksmith smirked a knowing look at him. "You love her."

"More than I love the gods, blacksmith."

Joe had apparently been listening, gripping on to the bars of his cell as he overheard their conversation. "How long have you known her?"

"That I cannot say, Captain. I fear I already have said too much," Vincent replied.

The blacksmith eyed Vincent warily, her eyes finding his bound and bloody wrists. "You'll give her up one way or another, Knight. They'll break you into hundreds of pieces only to stitch you back together again. You'll be screaming her name before the day is done."

"I'm afraid the day is already done, m'lady," said a guardsman suddenly, trailing into the stone hallway in front of the cells with his two companions by his side. He did not approach Vincent's cell (and to Vincent's amusement the guardsman pointedly avoided his cell) and instead opened the door to the cell of the blacksmith.

"Come 'ere darlin', ain't no use fo' strugglin'," sneered his companion, entering her cell with his arms outstretched.

"Don't you fucking touch her," Vincent swore, tugging at his restraints despite the spikes digging into his wrists. His eyes glowed yellow again as the men of the Kingsguard dragged the blacksmith from her cell.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, Knight. We'll take good care of 'em." The guardsmen continued down the hall out of Vincent's range of sight, and dragged perhaps a dozen more women out of their cells. Vincent realized that the dungeons were much larger than he'd thought, because he couldn't see the several dozen cells continuing on down to his left. Joe was in the only cell to his right.

When the guardsmen came back into view, they had all of the women bound together with heavy chains. Most of them looked to be strong and fit: probably the reason they'd been accused of being the vigilante in the first place. Their clothes were tattered and filthy, and they looked as if they hadn't been as well-fed as the blacksmith had been.

"Fit for a sacrifice, aren't they?" jibed the tallest man of the Kingsguard. Vincent realized- at the same time the rest of them did- that these women were not being released: they were going to be sacrificed. "I can see it now: a sea of their families' faces to watch them die. It'll be a most auspicious occasion for a wedding, do you not agree?"

"No," Vincent growled, his face morphing and contorting into the face of the Beast. He struggled yet again at his restraints, but to no avail. His wrists and flesh would break long before his chains would, but that didn't stop him from struggling against them.

The men of the Kingsguard eyed him with the closest thing they could come to fear, obviously wary of the Beast. His veined and scarred visage was twisted into a raging demonic mask, his sharp canines gleaming in the torchlight.

"No," Vincent roared as the women were dragged from the dungeons. They yelled and tore at their chains, struggling to yank their chains from the hands of their captors. But they had been awake for days, starved and tortured by the scum of the earth. They were exhausted. "_NO_," he roared again, pulling at his wrist restraints until the iron spikes cut into his bones.

Vincent prayed to whoever would listen that his love would save those people from being sacrificed. "_Catherine,_" the Beast whispered in defeat, his voice low and ragged from yelling, "_Catherine, my love, please save them_." Vincent did not care that Joe was still listening.

"Keller, I need you to stay strong, my friend," Joe said, holding tight to the bars like a lifeline, "I refuse to see you suffer." They had fought side by side for years, but Joe had never seen his comrade in this type of agony before.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

It was around midnight when Catherine was able to escape from the supper table: her fiancé had insisted she stayed with him and the King as they discussed their upcoming wedding. Any mention of her engagement to that monster made bile rise in her throat.

She donned her vigilante clothes out of habit. Leather was wound around her palms and wrists. A dozen poisoned knives were secured in sheaths up and down her muscled thighs. She laced the back of her leather vest about her black tunic and tied her billowing cloak about her shoulders. Her swords were strapped across her back. Finally, she lowered her lions mask over her face.

Catherine crept silently down her stairs and into the silent hallways. No one was usually awake this time of night. Suddenly, she heard footsteps rush up behind her and the creaking of metal armor.

She whirled to meet her attacker without unsheathing any of her weapons. It was one of her father's half-a-dozen guardsman, his breastplate reflecting the soft torchlight as he swung an armored fist towards her face. What she lacked in strength, she made up for in speed as she ducked under his swing and dealt a swift jab to his Adam's apple.

He clutched at his throat, struggling to breathe, before Catherine knocked his legs out from under him. His fall to the floor was much louder than she'd have liked, but no one seemed to have been roused by it. She crouched over him and held one of her knives to his throat.

"This blade was forged with Northern poison in its steel. It'll kill a man with a single prick. Answer me truthfully and I'll only knock you unconscious," she hissed, letting the cold steel kiss against his exposed throat.

"P-princess?" he sputtered in disbelief.

"Very good," Catherine chided him, "Now, tell me where my guardsman is."

"In the dungeons," he told her, more willing to save his own skin than to keep the prisoner of the King a secret, "beneath the castle."

"In the labyrinth?"

"Yes, princess."

"Thank you," she said sweetly, before knocking him out cold. Catherine sheathed her knives and went off to the cellar where the access point to the tunnels was. Her heart pounded in her chest as she grabbed a torch from its place on the wall and descended into darkness.

Catherine wanted to run, to go as fast as she could to find him, but she couldn't risk the torch going out. Besides, she didn't have any idea where she was going. There were miles of tunnels, dank, pitch-black halls of stone and pewter that threatened to swallow her if she wasn't careful. She knew where the lift down to the mountain base was, but other than that these tunnels were completely alien to her.

She hadn't explored them in years, and any hidden secrets she'd found then were now lost to her. Puddles of stagnant water gathered in dips in the cratered floor. Moisture leaked down from the ceiling, as if the stone itself was weeping. Catherine nearly slipped on the slimy stone, and began to keep a hand on the wall beside her so she wouldn't drop her torch.

It was as if she was descending into the pits of hell: the way shadows seemed to dance alongside her and in the corners of her eyes. The darkness reached out to her, its black tendrils snaking out to ensnare her mind and drag her into madness. Demonic whispers, hissing and growling, came out of the walls to speak to her. She gulped in a breath of muddy air and continued on.

Hours passed with her wandering onward. She was completely and utterly lost. Catherine nearly wept with frustration as she reached yet another dead-end. It was as if the people who constructed those tunnels were making a place to leave their prisoners to rot and walk to death. Hallways branched off in several directions. Some continued on for miles and others went only a couple hundred yards before ending abruptly at a stone wall.

By her count, it was nearly sunrise as she came upon yet another branched hallway. "Gods," she whispered, "I'm going to die down here." Her heart continued to pound in her chest as she moved on to the tunnel on her left. Up ahead, her eyes found a second glow, an orb of light that did not belong to the end of her torch.

She approached it with a smile on her face, knowing that this torch must've been lit by _someone_. Catherine turned a corner to find a knight guarding a heavy iron door. Before he could reach for his sword, she'd thrown a knife right between his eyes. He collapsed like a sack of potatoes. She grabbed the ring of keys on his belt before she unlocked the iron door and headed inside.

Catherine almost groaned at the sight of yet another hallway, but at the end of it, she could see the familiar form of her guardsman chained to a chair. She cast aside her torch and sprinted to his cell. "Vincent!" she called. His head snapped up at the sound of her voice, his eyes glazed with pain and defeat. Blood ran down his hands from the punctures on his wrists. His tunic was missing, revealing his goose pimpled flesh.

His face broke into a smile. "Catherine." Vincent said her name like it was gospel, like it was the most profound word in his language. She unlocked his cell with haste, her hands shaking with excitement. Carefully, she set her mask aside so she could properly see what she was doing. It took her a moment to find the key that fit into the spiked cuffs.

He groaned in pain as she opened the cuffs, trying to get his hands out of the spikes as gently as she could. Vincent's wounds healed almost immediately once the impediments to the healing process were removed. He sagged in relief as she unwound the chains that had been wrapped around him. Once he was free, he swept her into an embrace and spun her just as he had done the night before.

Catherine kissed him softly on his cracked lips. "I love you."

Vincent returned the favor. "As I you, m'lady." He sobered and set her on her feet. "Catherine, I hate to spoil the moment, but the King is planning on sacrificing perhaps a dozen women."

She nodded. "I know, I was trying to get him to tell me when he was going to do it-,"

"No, he's doing it _today._"

"What?"

"I wanted you to find them first."

"Do you know _where_?" she demanded.

Joe answered from his cell, having just awoke to the sound of them talking. "The village. He's going to sacrifice every woman accused of being the vigilante in front of the people the vigilante is supposed to protect."

Catherine looked up at Vincent. "We have to go." She grabbed her mask just as Vincent took the keys. "What are you doing?" she asked as she tied the mask around her hood. Vincent unlocked Joe's cell door and helped his former Captain to his feet. "We don't have time to help him along," she said coldly, still stung by Joe's lack of assistance during the rebel attack.

"We're bringing him," Vincent replied. He spotted his tunic on the floor outside of his cell and put it on, finding some relief from the cool air of the dungeons. Joe could walk on his own once he was out of his cell, his years of fighting in harsh conditions had hardened his body into a lean, survival machine.

With that, the three of them took off running, Vincent leading, towards the lift that would carry them down to the village. Catherine could only hope that they would make it in time.


	15. A Crown for a King (or Queen)

**AN: Just for reference, the marketplace is about the size of two football fields stacked upon each other width-wise. (100x100 yards)**

**Lady Amani is the warrior Lady from the North who talked to Catherine during her masquerade ball. She is a good guy, btw.**

The morning sky that hung over the crowded market square was an ominous one: heavy, dark clouds clumped into mighty storm systems that threatened to pour any second. The atmosphere was charged with a tension that was almost tangible as it danced between the hundreds of people packed into less than one hundred square yards of space.

A platform had been raised in the middle, perhaps five feet off of the ground with three chairs upon it. About ten feet in front of that were three wooden poles surrounded by piles of kindling. Tied to each wooden pole were four women, all bound together by rusty iron chains and doused in oil. A dozen women in total shivered in fear as they awaited their deaths.

The King sat upon the center chair on the platform behind the women, with Lord Muir sitting on his right and Lord Marks on his left. The lords of the East and North had not accepted their invitations to the sacrifice. Men of the Kingsguard were scattered about the market square; some protected the King, some kept the crowd at bay, and the rest kept a watchful eye upon the objects of sacrifice. All twelve of the Kingsguard had turned out to preside over the security.

People in the crowd were a mixed bunch: whores, thieves, crime lords, priests, monks, dignitaries, women, children, blacksmiths, former knights, and even a few Northern ladies disguised as miscreants. Lady Amani of the North was among the ladies who had decided to sneak into the village anonymously.

The princess was not in attendance, Lady Amani noted to herself, nor was her glowering guardsman Knight Keller. Disappointment flooded the Northern woman's heart, for she had great hopes for the princess after meeting Catherine at the masquerade ball nearly a month ago. Instead of the beautiful Queen-to-be at her father's side, it was that cursedly foul fiancé of hers; Lord Marks.

Lord Muir rose and clapped his hands together to draw attention to himself. His soulless eyes did not carry even the ghost of the smile he had plastered over his wrinkled features. Rings, made of gold and encrusted with precious gems, were no doubt tokens of the King's favor. Even his garments were of the richest, most colorful velvet, and adorned with rather garish embroidery.

"Ladies and gentlemen," boomed Lord Muir, attempting to project his voice in a manner that would silence the crowd. The people fell diligently silent, as if awaiting a death sentence of their own. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said again now that he had their attention, "I have the pleasure of introducing to you your divine King, His Grace, protector of the realm, and ruler of Kroy Wen." No one applauded as Lord Muir bowed to the King.

The King stood, his ashen knuckles clutching his staff for support. His crown was dull as it nestled upon his silver head, as if it did not truly belong there in the first place. He raised his chin and stepped forward, his violet cloak billowing out behind him with a sudden gust of icy wind. Once, when he was a much younger man, his shoulders were muscled and broad but now they sulked under the weight of his own clothing. What he radiated was not the glory of the crown but rather the cruel power of a slave driver.

"Loyal subjects," the King said, "we are gathered here today to witness the sacrifice of the truly rebellious in the name of the future. It has been through the actions of one, singular, solitary woman that have made the union of the lord of House Marks and the princess of House Chandler _cursed._" He spat the word out like it was a drop of the same bile that ran through his wicked veins. "The gods do not smile upon a union that was made while a menace was allowed to rip through my subjects."

Despite herself, Lady Amani scoffed from her place in the crowd. The King did not seem to hear her and continued. "To pay recompense to our gods, we must sacrifice everyone linked to aiding the vigilante. Only then will the union of my daughter and Lord Marks be made auspicious once again." A murmur ran itself through the crowd: made of dissent and fear.

The daughter of one of the women to be sacrificed clutched her father's hand like a vice whilst silent tears ran down her face. The sister of another clung to her sister's husband, who sobbed openly. Friends and neighbors of the women awaiting their death were scattered about the crowd, their faces shrouded in mourning and darkness. Their hearts were heavy with loss, but they had no fire left, no _strength_ left, to be able to rise up and free those people.

A crack of thunder sounded above the village, seething and twisting between the heavy clouds as it followed the strike of lightning. The gods did not seem to agree with what the King was doing, but the King paid the signs no heed as he continued to descend into his madness.

The King sank back onto his chair, as if he was simply going to enjoy a jousting tournament instead of watch a dozen women burn. His dark eyes reflected no light and held no life. He looked like a walking corpse now, his eyes sunken into his sallow face, his cheeks hollowed, and his skin waxy. His fingers, still wrapped tightly around the staff, were bony and weak.

Lord Marks, from his place next to the King, cast his handsome features skyward as he regarded the darkening clouds with some measure of wariness. He, too, sported objects of the King's favor: deerskin boots, a silk tunic, and even a light steel sword. The pommel was encrusted with sapphires and rubies as it poked out of its equally ostentatious sheath. He'd probably never taken it out of its sheath and had a go.

The village, usually so lively and full of noise, was now deathly silent. All of its inhabitants had been gathered in the marketplace. The canvas, clay, and wood houses were empty. Stone buildings three of four stories high in the center of the village served now only as a backdrop for the coming atrocity.

The dozen women chained together to the three separate wooden poles shivered as thunder roared again in the morning sky. Piles of wood at their bare feet served as kindling. None of them cried. All stared silently, some too shocked to cry anyway, off into the distance. Their arms had been chained together by the Kingsguard, but it was they who made the decision to hold hands. Fingers of whores and wives alike intertwined as a gesture of faith.

"None of us are the true vigilante, Your Grace," called a beast of a woman from her place on her funeral pyre. Half of her face had been burned, but her vocation as a blacksmith did not call for her to be beautiful. Only hours before, she had spoken to Knight Keller, the person who truly knew who the vigilante was. She showed no fear as she called to the King.

"And yet _all _of you have been accused of being the vigilante," countered Lord Marks, leaning forward in his chair as he spoke upon behalf of the King.

"Gossip," the blacksmith replied, "Rumors incited by those who do not care for us."

Lord Marks raised an eyebrow, "Is that so? Then why-,"

"_Enough_," snapped the King. "She merely wishes to stay her execution by inciting quarrel with you. Do not indulge her."

"Then what are you waiting for?" the lady blacksmith cried, "_Execute _us and be done with it!"

The King nodded to his guardsman, who stood between two of the pyres. His breastplate, bearing the roaring lion's crest of House Chandler, gleamed in the light of the torch he held in his hand. Most of the women closed their eyes and braced themselves, but the blacksmith stared defiantly up at the King. Father's hands shielded the eyes of children from the sight that was about to unfold.

But someone in the crowd cried, "_No."_

A collective gasp shuddered through the marketplace as the vigilante herself was flung from the center of the crowd. Her legendary lions mask roared in defiance as her cloak billowed out behind her. She did not land on the ground, but instead used her momentum to kick the guardsman who was just about to set fire to the pyres. The guardsman was on his back almost instantly before the vigilante made sure to kick his torch away from the bound and terrified women.

She unsheathed her swords and called out to the eleven other men of the Kingsguard. "Which one of you has the keys for these?" she jibed, pointing to the chains wrapped around the women.

"_Impossible,_" breathed the King, recognizing the vigilante's voice. The vigilante paid him no attention as the entire Kingsguard set themselves upon her.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Catherine told Vincent to stay back where he was, no matter the odds against her. This was something she had to do alone.

When the Kingsguard attacked, it was nothing less than chaos. Their blades spun like the blades upon a windmill, hacking and slashing blindly at her. Catherine waited them out, biding her time by playing defense. She knew that these men hadn't fought in years; their bodies were no longer accustomed to sustaining combat for long periods of time. She parried their strikes until finally one of them began to falter.

She ducked under a particularly slow and heavy swing to kick him in the breastplate at the precise point where she knew it would crumple like parchment. The now concaved breastplate crushed the guardsman's internal organs in a few short minutes. He fell backward, only to be trampled by his comrades.

Catherine was much smaller than any of them, and therefore much faster. She amputated the hand of the next man. A back kick crumpled a man's face visor, much like the breastplate had crunched under her foot, and crushed the man's face. Some of them did not wear helmets, mostly because they were cumbersome, and were much easier for her to take out.

The remaining eight came in closer, swords swinging aimlessly as they only cut through the air where Catherine had been a moment ago. She beheaded the closest one with a single swipe of her blade. A sudden, sharp pain cut through the back of her leg as one of the men's swords cut her. She growled with irritation before ramming a sword through his throat.

After another two minutes, only two men were left standing. One had a gash over his eyebrow where Catherine had sliced at him. She was about to attack him when her legs were swept out from beneath her. She thudded to the ground as her swords went flying off to either side of her. Stars swam through her vision as she struggled to get air back into her lungs. Her head throbbed where it had struck the ground.

The guardsman behind her was about to deal a killing blow before the King yelled, "Stop! Bring her to her knees." Catherine's arms were twisted behind her back as she was forced to kneel before the King. Both of the guardsmen had shed their swords to hold her, but they were much too heavy for her to wield anyway. The King rose from his seat to give his commands. "Lift her mask."

The crowd, those who could see her anyway, gave a collective gasp. Those who couldn't see her were quickly informed by their neighbors. Catherine could feel hundreds of eyes upon her face, but she sought only the King's gaze. He hardened his jaw in disapproval even as Lord Marks and Lord Muir were slacked jawed and wide-eyed.

"My dear Catherine," the King sighed, "I should have known that your mother would have brainwashed you against me."

Catherine laughed. "As if I needed my mother to tell me how much of an evil little bastard you are. I can just look out of my window and see what you have done to these people."

"And you think that you and Lord Marks will do better?"

She cocked her head. "I'm offended that you think that I will let someone like _him_ make choices for these people, either." Catherine reared her head backwards and head-butted the guardsman holding her in the groin. Faster than the other guardsman could react, she spun away and grabbed ahold of her dropped swords. She knocked them both unconscious by striking them on their heads with the flat side of her blades.

She stood to face the King once more and unfastened her cloak along with her sword sheaths. The heavy cloak fell in a heap behind her so she could approach her father. Whispers followed her as she walked towards the platform where Lords Marks and Muir, and the King now stood. Lord Marks stepped in front of the King with his trophy sword drawn.

"I will take your sister for a wife instead, but only if I have to," Lord Marks challenged. His hands shook as he gripped the pommel and pointed the polished steel at her.

"Lord Marks, I just fought against all dozen of the Kingsguard," Catherine said, walking up the wooden steps onto the platform. "I've watched over these people for almost seven years now. I'm not going to let some Southern Lord stand in the way of protecting the people I serve." She leveled her swords at his throat. "Stand. Away."

Lord Marks did as he was told, and dropped his sword so that it clattered upon the wooden platform. "Are you going to kill me?" he asked as Catherine stood before her father.

Catherine did not even spare him a glance as she answered him. "I promised your death to someone else." Her amber eyes met the King's soulless brown ones. "Kneel, so that your subjects may see that you are no better than they are."

The King looked down upon the swords that she held at his throat. "You will not kill me. I am your father."

"You have caused the suffering of millions. You have women raped and children's hands amputated from their little bodies. You steal food from those who work for it so that you may see them starve. The fact that you're my father only makes me sick. I said _kneel,_" she hissed, and forced him to his knees. His old, ashen knuckles rested upon the hard wood of the platform as he was made to face the crowd.

Catherine put both swords in one hand to wrench the crown off of his head and cast it off to the side of her. It bounced worthlessly off of the platform, its jewels and gold worth nothing now that it no longer sat upon a King's head. She returned her sword back to her other hand and raised her gaze to meet the eyes of the crowd.

"Vincent, can you grab the key from that guardsman and unlock those women? There will not be any more innocent blood spilled today." Vincent appeared from his place in the crowd, grabbed the key off of a belt of a slain guardsman, and unlocked the chains from the women who were to be sacrificed.

"I _knew _that guard of yours was up to no good," the King sneered, glaring at Vincent as he set the women free. Children ran to their freed mothers and jumped into their mothers' arms. The women took their places in the crowd next to their families and awaited the coming storm that the princess was about to unleash.

"You see?" Catherine called. "This pitiful sack of a man is nothing to fear. But I cannot forget the atrocities that he has committed. Nor can I forget the people who suffered at his hand. King Thomas of House Chandler, protector of the realm and ruler of Kroy Wen, I hereby sentence you to death by beheading. Is there anyone here who objects to such a sentencing? Speak now or forever hold your peace."

The crowd was silent for a moment before Catherine swung her swords. His head bounced down the wooden stairs before landing in the grass in the center of the marketplace. The rest of his body teetered for a moment before Catherine kicked it off of the platform to land not far from his head. Everything remained still for several moments longer as the death of the man who had kept them in fear for so long processed in their minds.

Catherine did not smile. Her heart pounded in her chest as she regarded her people. She knelt upon the platform and placed her swords in front of her. "I have failed you. I failed to kill him long before this. For the last seven years, instead of running around protecting the village, I could have killed the very man who threatened you. But instead I waited for things to escalate to _this_. If the people so choose it, I will _not_ take the throne."

They all murmured amongst each other as Catherine fought the urge to look down at Vincent. His eyes burned a hole in her, but she refused to meet his gaze. Suddenly, a woman stepped forward, her three daughters behind her. Her dress was ragged and filthy, but she looked healthy enough.

"You came under cover of darkness and healed my whip lashes after the King had me whipped by his guards. You killed my daughters' rapist. I don't know what kind of Queen you'll be, but I know you'll be a damn sight better than your father," the woman said it loud enough for everyone to hear. Her daughters held their heads high behind her. Catherine smiled and nodded graciously to her.

Another woman stepped forward, her cloak as red as the blood that dripped off of Catherine's swords. She let her hood fall back as she locked eyes with Catherine. "I am Lady Amani of House Greyfell. I grew up with your mother, Princess. I had my doubts about you, but I can see now that you are the kind of woman that she would be proud of. You have the fire of the North in your veins, Your Grace. You will make an excellent Queen." Catherine smiled at her as well.

A man limped forward, leaning on a wooden walking stick. He looked as if he was as old as the kingdom itself. His beard was matted and crusted with dirt, and his clothes were no better. His eyes were soft, and when he looked upon Catherine, he smiled kindly. "I have lived in this kingdom through the worst hells imaginable. The Kings and Queens who have gone mad or evil have done so because they have ruled _alone_. If you are to truly do well as Queen, then you need to take the throne with an equal. Someone who will stand by your side but keep you within bounds."

Some in the crowd nodded in agreement, whilst others merely looked upon Catherine as she got to her feet. "Will you accept me as your Queen? With my husband at my side?"

"Husband?" demanded Lord Marks. "I'm not marrying you, you're insane." She had all but forgotten about Lord Marks.

"Not you, Lord Marks," she said coldly. Catherine finally had the courage to look Vincent in the eye. "My sun and stars, Sir Vincent Keller, will you do me the honor of giving me your hand in matrimony?"

Vincent bowed. "It would be my honor, my love."

"So what say you?" Catherine called, "Will you allow us to serve you, as King and Queen?" She surveyed the crowd of her people. She'd protected them for much of her life, fighting from the shadows and limping back to the castle at the end of the night. Without expectations of reward or recognition, she'd sacrificed her innocence to keep them safe.

Her people knew her as the vigilante, as their savior. Catherine expected them to regard her differently without her mask on, but her true identity did not seem to faze them. She looked down again at Vincent, whose eyes were full of nothing but love and pride. Even if they did not accept her, she would be happy simply because she had him by her side.

It was Lady Amani who raised her sword- which had been hidden beneath her cloak- as a sign of solidarity. The old man who had stepped forward held his walking stick in the air. Some of the Army's men had filtered into the crowd and they, too, raised their swords. Builders and blacksmiths raised their hammers, and a little girl even raised a straw doll above her head. Those who had nothing else simply thrust an empty fist into the air.

Catherine stepped down from the platform, her swords in hand, and knelt on one knee next to Vincent. He followed suit, kneeling to face the crowd. "I, Princess Catherine of House Chandler, daughter of Vanessa of House Greyfell and Magnus of House Saxon, do hereby pledge my blood, my sword, and my honor to the people of Kroy Wen." Vincent turned his head slightly, recognizing the vow that one takes for knighthood.

She placed her swords in front of her. "I pledge my life to the land, and my soul to the gods above it. And if I should falter in my duty, I shall be made to exile and wander the barren lands for eternity. To this I so swear."

Vincent bowed his head. "I, Knight Vincent of House Keller, son of Nyssa and Michael Keller, do hereby pledge my life to the people of Kroy Wen. I pledge my heart to my Queen, and my soul to the gods above her. And if I should falter in my duty, I shall be made to exile and wander the barren lands for eternity. To this I so swear."

The old man lowered his staff and limped to stand before them. "Then rise, Queen and Knight, and all that keeps the Knight from the throne shall be your binding to each other." They stood together. "Only after you are joined may knight become King." The old man repeated.

"The King is dead! All hail the Queen!" Lady Amani shouted, sheathing her sword.

"_THE KING IS DEAD! ALL HAIL THE QUEEN!" _The crowd echoed, their collective voice reverberating off of the mountain that rose above them.

**Aaaand it's not the end. Vincent still has to get married to Catherine in order to become King. There's still those rebels in the East who just want to fight with **_**someone**_**, not necessarily just the old King. We still have a while to go, folks.**


	16. Weddings and Wartimes

**AN: The first half of this story went kinda slow, but now that I have all of the premise set up, I'm going to pick up the pace. This fic isn't an historical or a renaissance AU, it's a Game of Thrones AU. Anyone who is familiar with that series should be able to recognize some similar themes. Queen Catherine is going to be a lot like Daenarys Targareyan from season 3 (that means very badass). **

**Lucian Sind is the leader of the Rebellion, but he's not a bad guy. He's just looking out for the good of his people. **

**The wedding is about a week after Catherine killed her father.**

General Lucian Sind had always been an imposing man. Since childhood, he'd towered over his peers and even his own parents. His friends called him The Wall, named so for his muscular physique and his fighting prowess. His long sword, as tall as an average man when stood upon its point, was his constant companion. When he stood with his sword strapped to his waist, he became the symbol of the greatness that the Rebellion had now become.

In his tent, some twenty leagues east of the King's castle mountain, Lucian was looking over the maps once again. His eyes trailed over the painted parchment and carved figures that were made to represent Army strongholds all over the kingdom. The Rebellion itself had three thousand men, most of whom had never seen a battlefield before, as compared to the Army's ten thousand well-trained men. The only advantage for the Rebellion was the fact that the Army was spread out and stretched thin. The Army's hold at the base of the castle mountain had been weakened by the rebel attack nearly two months ago.

Suddenly, Lucian's lieutenant and right hand burst in. His leather armor was dirty from a day's ride, but he was in otherwise good shape. In his lieutenant's hand was a scroll of parchment. "General Sind, sir, I have news from the village near the castle mountain."

Lucian stroked his black beard. "And?"

"The vigilante killed the King nearly a fortnight ago."

He stood suddenly and walked over to his lieutenant. "What? Who sent this?"

"Our source in the village sent a raven to us dated yesterday. The vigilante's identity was revealed during a fight against the men of the Kingsguard. She is the King's daughter, Catherine."

Lucian rubbed his face. "We have no way of knowing what her intentions are."

His lieutenant pointed to a line on the parchment. "She swore an oath to serve the people. I've never heard of a Queen doing that before."

"'_Queen'?_ She took the throne?"

"It appears so, and also named her King."

Lucian shook his head. "She can't do that to any man she is not married to."

"She asked for his hand in marriage, General. He's a knight and soon he'll be made King as well."

He put his hands on his hips. "She's gutsy, I'll give her that. Donovan, I'm going to want to meet with her on neutral ground. I want to see if she's genuine."

Donovan nodded. "Sir, I lived in that village under the vigilante's protection for two years before I left to join you. She kept order and held criminals accountable for their actions. If she is truly the vigilante, then I'd be willing to hear her out."

Lucian smiled good-naturedly and clapped the smaller man on the shoulder. "Honestly Donovan, I hope she is true and just. Gods know I'm sick of all this bloodshed. Send a raven to the castle and give her the time and place for a rendezvous point, perhaps halfway between here and there." His lieutenant nodded and stepped out of the tent.

The general rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. The voice in the back of his mind nagged at him, insisting that he shouldn't trust the new Queen. He knew so little about her and the husband that she'd chosen. He didn't want to give his troops false hope regarding peace, not after so many losses and broken oaths. He was at his wit's end.

"If she isn't who she says she is," Lucian growled, "I'll rip her fucking head off myself."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Vincent sank dejectedly onto Catherine's mattress in her bedchambers, the pressure of his wedding day eating at him. He clutched at the wineskin in his hand like it was the last in the kingdom, his sweat making his silk tunic insufferable. _To my kingdom, _he thought somberly to himself before he took another swig of whiskey from the wineskin. His head pounded before he threw away the wineskin and dropped to the floor, his hands curling into fists.

He pressed his sweaty forehead against the cool limestone floor. "Dammit, dammit, dammit," he swore, throwing his fist down in frustration.

"Vincent!" Catherine called, breaking through the drunken haze of his mind. She rushed over to his prone form and ran her hands soothingly over the tense muscles in his back.

"Do you see what you've done to me?" he slurred.

Catherine cocked her head in confusion. "I've named you as my fiancé and the realm's future King."

Vincent pushed her away and stood up. "Who asked you to do that for me?"

She was aghast. "I thought you wanted this. You agreed."

"Yes, because you asked me to take your hand in marriage- and thus take the throne- in front of everyone you've protected for years. What was I supposed to say?"

Catherine's eyes flashed with hurt. "You don't want to marry me?" Her voice was soft, cut by his rejection.

Vincent immediately felt a pang of guilt. "Catherine, I want to be your husband for the rest of my days. I want to be able to call you my wife every morning I wake. But I didn't ask to be King."

"I cannot be Queen alone, Vincent."

"You have it in your blood to rule, Catherine. You were born from this."

She clenched her jaw. "Are you talking about the blood of a mad King or his dead wife? There is nothing special that runs through my veins, _nothing_."

"I am a knight and a Beast. I belong on the battlefield, not cooped up in this godforsaken castle. I am one of the greatest warriors who ever lived-,"

"And you think I don't know how you feel?" Catherine interjected angrily. "I hate these walls more than you do, because I've never lived behind anything _but _them. I love my people more than I hate my misery, so I will endure it."

"Your people love you in return, but most of them have never seen me before. I'm just some farmer's boy from the foothills, I'm no dignitary. They'll have a Beast for a King."

"As opposed to the monster my father was? I am just as wild as your Beast is, but I no longer have a different face to hide behind. You see these?" she raised her scarred hands. "Everyone can see my sins upon my skin, Vincent. I cannot hide my demons. I am a Queen, but I am not better than the hells beneath my feet. If you say that you cannot be King because your eyes glow like hellfire, then by that definition I am not fit to rule, either."

"You are no demon, my Queen," he said softly, "you are a lioness."

"Then you are no Beast, my love. What we are never changes. _Who_ we are can only be defined by the actions we choose to take. The previous King stayed shut up in this castle, and was blind to the needs of his subjects. He never saw the light of day except for when he walked past a window. We will not make the same mistake. We will ride from North to South and from East to West so the people we serve know that we are not to fear."

Vincent nodded. "I'd much rather serve than rule, my Queen. I will take the throne only if I have to sit in it just once. I refuse to be King with my ass glued to some fucking chair."

"So you'll do it, then?"

"Aye, my lady."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Hundreds of people had been packed into the throne room. Golden afternoon sunlight filtered through the massive stained-glass windows to cast the silks and linens of fine tunics and dresses afire. A week ago, not one of them would have stepped foot inside of the hall voluntarily, but now they came in droves. There was almost not enough room for an aisle for the wedding party to walk down.

A long, intricately woven carpet had been rolled out to mark the path for the procession, as it had done for centuries' worth of weddings and coronations. There were no guards to line the walls because the Queen and King-to-be had no need for them. People smiled genially at each other and chatted as though they'd known each other for far longer.

Upon the steps at the very end of the hall where the throne had lived for its entirety, a stone basin sat, filled with crystal-clear water. Red rose petals and white sage were scattered up and down the aisle to represent love and strength. Tess and Heather stood on the bride's side of the pedestal, as beautiful and as radiant as the goddesses of love. Flowers were woven into their hair, and their dresses were simple white linen sarongs. JT stood facing them on the groom's side wearing a white tunic and brown trousers.

Vincent was a beauty in his own right. His scarred visage set more than one heart aflutter as he smiled good-naturedly at everyone he walked past. His armor had been smoothed and polished, as well as embellished with gold paint. Swirling designs shone in the sunlight, twisting and blooming into shapes upon the metal that he'd worn for years. It seemed almost strange to be getting married in it, but he absolutely refused to wear frilly tunics and trousers. His sword hung loosely at his side, merely for decoration than for necessity.

When the groom reached JT, he breathed out a sigh. "Good gods, the entire kingdom turned out for _this?" _JT had been Vincent's friend long enough to know that the knight was having his doubts. His voice was grated with nerves, and a bead of sweat rolled down the normally composed man's face.

JT nodded back towards the entrance. "Personally, I would have come just to see _her_."

Vincent looked at where his friend had nodded to, and saw something that took his breath away. Instead of wearing a dress as everyone had predicted her to wear, she'd opted for a white robe and trousers, not unlike the sort of thing monks would wear. A golden cloak was draped over her shoulders, and her two swords were in sheaths around her waist instead of on her back. Her Queen's crown looked like someone had melted gold into the shape of woven vines, and gleamed proudly in her presence.

No one really paid attention to what she was wearing, not really anyway. Her hair was out of its usual braid and was coiled into curls that graced her shoulders. Her eyes were framed with kohl, with the lines extending from the tips of her eyelashes to make her eyes resemble those of a cat's. Lips were touched with red, presumably a touch added by Tess. It was apparent to everyone in the hall that she could not truly be of this earth.

Catherine smiled wryly at Tess before taking her place beside Vincent. Magnus appeared from a door behind the raised steps, holding a pillow with the King's crown upon it. It had been polished, but it seemed oddly out of place…like it was not serving its proper owner. The crown hadn't been to its full glory in years. He set the pillow down behind the stone basin before raising his chin to address the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here to witness the joining of two warriors and the crowning of a King. This event marks the beginning of a new era of prosperity and peace." He stood behind the basin and made Vincent and Catherine stand opposite each other on either side of it. "These waters that reside in this basin are of the spring in the godswood. They are the purest of any in the kingdom."

Magnus took Catherine's hand and placed it in the frigid water before doing the same for Vincent. They both inhaled sharply as the cold ached into their skin. "Any sins or misgivings either had possessed before will now be washed clean, so they may come into their marriage of sound mind and body." He lifted their now freezing hands from the water and placed Vincent's hand over Catherine's to hover in the center.

He pulled a small, ancient rope from the folds of his tunic and tied their hands together with it. "You may say your vows, My Queen." Magnus said, lovingly looking upon the woman he had raised.

Catherine smiled and raised her gaze to lock with Vincent's. "I love you, my sun and stars. I vow that I will stand beside you, protect you, and love you until the sun refuses to rise, until the oceans run dry, and until the world ceases to spin. You are mine as I am yours."

Magnus turned to Vincent. "You may say your vows, brave sir Knight."

Vincent looked upon Catherine as the rest of the hall fell away. He could no longer hear the murmuring of her subjects and the sun upon his back. All he could feel was her hand bound to his. "I love you, my lioness. I vow that I will stand beside you, protect you, and love you until the gods themselves fall and hell rises to meet with the earth. You are mine as I am yours."

Magnus placed his hands on both of their shoulders, "For now and forever, as husband and wife, as Knight and vigilante, and as King and Queen." He removed the piece of rope that tied their hands together and turned to Catherine, "Your Grace, will you crown your husband as King of the realm?" She nodded, taking the crown and having Vincent kneel before her upon the stone steps.

She placed the crown upon his head to nestle in his soft, dark hair. It was only when the crown was placed with Vincent did it finally shine properly, the gems gleaming proudly in the sunlight. Up until then, Catherine had her own doubts for Vincent becoming King. But as she looked upon him, wearing his armor and his crown, he looked like the King she wanted him to be.

He rose to his feet as Magnus proclaimed, "All hail the King!" The crowd echoed twice before he added, "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your Queen." Vincent smiled and kissed her sweetly and softly upon her lips, maintaining as much restraint as he could. She kissed him back, before having to break apart because she started laughing.

"And what's so funny, wife?" Vincent asked, a grin coating his face.

"It's nothing. I'm just happy, my King," Catherine giggled. They turned to face their people and raised their clasped hands high. The crowd cheered and clapped, whistling and voicing their approval of the new royal couple. None of them seemed to be bothered by the scars on Catherine's arms or the one on Vincent's face. Their people did not see them as something to be feared, rather saw them as something to be respected.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The feast wasn't held in the dining hall, and instead was held in the much bigger courtyard, so that the King and Queen could eat with _all_ of their guests, and not just the noble ones. Several long tables had been set out and covered with cloth to keep the wood from getting too hot in the late afternoon sun. Commoners and nobles alike sat with one another and toasted to good health with aged mead. The night before, the Queen had sent men boar hunting in the foothills, and the hunting party returned with three magnificent hogs.

Catherine and Vincent sat next to each other at the head of the table, a practice that naturally got their guests talking. They had both shed the most cumbersome bits of clothing: Catherine ditched her golden cloak and Vincent just changed out of his armor into something more comfortable. Most of the time, the King had his arm around his wife, while Catherine hand-fed her husband the best cuts of the boar off of her own fork. Heather, Tess, JT, and Magnus sat near them and chatted amiably amongst themselves.

Entertainers strummed lyres and tooted on carved wooden flutes as the guests ate. Stories of war, peace, or even a great feast such as this were passed around like plates of meat. People from the farthest reaches of the land couldn't have made it with only a week's notice, but it was hard to find two people from the exact same place. Smiles and laughter were boundless, especially after the tankards of the aged mead had been passed around a little longer. Friendships were forged between people who wouldn't have met without this kind of opportunity.

As the afternoon wore on into evening, the guests decided to play games in the grass as well as lounge around and drink. The core group around the King and Queen remained with them throughout. Tess leaned in. "So, Vincent, did you get to kill Lord Marks?"

Vincent nearly choked on his mead. "Gods, woman, _tact_."

Tess shrugged. "I fuck people for a living. Tact really isn't high on my list of priorities."

"I've decided to let Lord Marks rot into the shell of a man that he truly is. I can only kill him once, so I want to stretch it out." Vincent still got physically ill at the mere mention of Lord Marks.

Heather raised an eyebrow in amazement. "You really hate him that much?"

Vincent wrapped an arm around his wife, "He threatened to stuff his cock in her mouth. Of course I hate him."

Catherine laughed. "No more than I do."

"I'd like to contend that."

She grinned lazily and put her chin on his shoulder. "Oh, yeah? You wanna fight about it?"

Magnus smirked. "My dear girl, I love you as a father would love his daughter, but I'd put my wages on Vincent."

Tess smiled apologetically, "Sorry, love, but I have to agree." Heather and JT nodded as well.

"Oh I see how it is," Catherine said defensively. She got up from her chair and put her fists in the air with a mischievous smile on her face. "C'mon, Your Grace."

Vincent shook his head and laughed. "I'm not hitting my wife."

"Oh come _on_," Catherine whined, "I stabbed you with a poisoned knife, man. What more reason do you need?"

"That was five months ago, darling," Vincent admonished, but got up from his chair to stand opposite her, his arms raised for defense. His wife smirked smugly as the guests' attention was drawn to the couple. Faster than anyone could blink, Vincent had swept his Queen up over his shoulder like a baker would carry a sack of flour. Catherine shrieked and laughed in surprise.

"That kind of unfair advantage is totally unbecoming of a King," Catherine teased, hanging upside down.

"I told you so," Tess said at her rather indisposed friend.

"Magnus!" A man called, his armor gleaming in the sunset. He was a castle guard, around Magnus' age, and was brandishing a piece of parchment. Vincent put Catherine down to receive the castle guard. The man approached Magnus, "Magnus, darling, we've got a message from Lucian Sind," Kurt said.

Magnus stood to take the scroll from his lover. They could be together out in the open now that the Queen and King had no quarrel with two men or two women together. Magnus opened the scroll and read it aloud, his face serious and his voice grave. "The general of the Rebellion wishes to meet the vigilante Queen and her King upon neutral terms and neutral land. Ten leagues east of the castle. He wishes to discuss your plans for the future of the kingdom, and if he finds you to be genuine, he will lay down his arms against the crown."

He looked up from the paper with a hesitant smile upon his face. "This could be great news, Your Grace." He said to Catherine.

Kurt nodded. "I've met Lucian Sind to discuss terms of returning prisoners of war when I served in the infantry many years ago. Even then, he was honest and reasonable. I trust him, but I am wary of some who serve under him. Your Grace, you must tread lightly around his men. They are easily provoked, and for good reason."

Catherine looked around at the guests, most of whom had no idea what was going on. "If we can reunite families that were once separated in this civil war and bring peace, then I will gladly meet with him. What say you, my King?"

Vincent stroked his chin thoughtfully. "We shan't ride alone, m'lady. We're both capable fighters, but we're no match for three thousand men."

"We can't go in with an Army at our backs, either," Catherine said.

Tess stood, "JT and I will go with you two. We're both skilled in different areas and we're trusted by you." JT nodded.

"Who's going to watch the castle?" Heather asked.

Catherine smiled. "You will, sweet sister. You're the princess now, and you'll have Magnus and Kurt to give you advice. Vincent and I will still be King and Queen. We will still handle affairs as we normally would, but the small things will fall to you."

Magnus turned to his lover. "Kurt, will you send a raven back to General Sind and let him know that the King and Queen accept his invitation?" Kurt nodded.

Vincent looked to Catherine. "We'll set off tomorrow morning. Magnus, can you see to it that there are enough horses and provisions for four people?" Magnus nodded.

"You two will need to get all of your urges out of your system before we leave," Tess said. "A tent next to your best friends is no place for love making, yes?" JT's eyes widened at her brashness, but Vincent knew she was right.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

This time was slower and softer than the last. Hands found hands between trembling, shivering flesh. Lips placed kisses on lips and scars alike. Hearts thrummed like the strings on a harp, struck and plucked by the most nimble and skilled of fingers. Eyelids fluttered shut as mouths opened to let loose the animals stirring inside of them.

She purred in his ear as he growled in hers. Nails raked over naked backsides. Fingers clutched at flesh as if to keep some way of staying grounded. Hearts beat in synch, drumming and pounding with the sounds of war. Hips ground and flesh met with a stronger intensity as their climaxes neared.

Catherine let herself arch back onto the mattress, her arms outstretched as if she were freefalling from the highest mountain. Vincent jumped off of the edge after her, racing to catch his Queen so she didn't hit the ground without him. Teeth bit onto tough shoulders to muffle moans and screams. Fingertips reached for just an inch of purchase, whether with flesh or sheets.

The fires of hell seared in their bellies as they moved. Sparks danced and swam in the edges of their vision. The darkness of the bedchamber was not dark in the light of their hearts. Any fears, any doubts, sins, or otherwise were burned away. There was nothing but the bed and the other person.

There was nothing but the Beast and his lioness.

**The wedding wasn't really a high point in their relationship for me. Honestly, I'm more excited for their trek around the kingdom. **


	17. Conflicts of Interest

**AN: Sorry about the rushed wedding. I don't really like writing schmoopy things and ugh. But hey! Onto violence and adventure, yes?**

**I've decided that Tess and Joe won't be together in this fic. They don't have the bond that they got from working together for so many years, and I don't really know enough about Joe's character to be able to construct a relationship with her. Besides, he'll be much better suited keeping the Army together while Vincent and Catherine are away. **

Catherine finished saddling her horse in the castle's courtyard when Lady Amani approached her.

"My Queen, I wish you safe travels and extend an invitation to the North. We have plenty of rooms in our palace for you and the King," Lady Amani said, handing her a small map that would lead to the Northern lady's castle. Catherine smiled and thanked her before the other woman parted to leave for the North.

Both the King and Queen wore riding leathers commissioned from the Army's tanning house. They kept inner thighs from chafing against the friction of the saddle's movements. Catherine had decided that wearing dresses whilst traveling would be too cumbersome, so she bought some that fit her so she wouldn't have to ride side-saddle. Tess also opted for trousers, but only for when she was riding. JT looked woefully hesitant upon his horse.

"Do you not like horses, JT?" Catherine asked, climbing onto her own white mare that snorted under her weight.

"The last time he rode one he was bucked off," Vincent answered, shifting slightly in his saddle so he would be able to ride better. His stallion was the same steed he'd rode upon during his time as a knight, and only responded to his commands. The horse was a big, black beast, taller than even Vincent. It gnashed its teeth against the metal bit, tugging at the reins.

"Horses can sense when you're scared, good doctor," Tess said soothingly, before bending down to murmur sweet things into her mount's ear as she stroked its neck.

"What are you, a horse expert?" JT asked her.

"I haven't ridden in months," she replied, "but it's hard to forget how they behave with their riders." Tess nudged her horse over to JT with only a flick of her wrist and a clench of her thighs. She took ahold of his hands, which were clenched tightly around the leather reins. "Relax your grip. How in the world are you supposed to lead with the reins if your grip is too tight to move? It's like stroking a cock: strong enough to make 'em feel it, but not tight enough to make 'em cry."

JT looked extremely uncomfortable. "I think your profession has affected you more than you think."

Catherine laughed and nudged her horse forward, "Are you kidding? Tess has been like that ever since she could talk." Tess winked at her Queen.

"Is everyone ready?" Vincent asked.

Catherine was about to reply before she heard a familiar voice yell, "Wait! Catherine, darling, you forgot your bloody swords!" Magnus ran over to her horse, brandishing her twin swords in their sheaths.

"Good gods, that's not something I should have forgotten," she breathed, taking her swords from him, "Thank you, Magnus. Take care of Heather, will you?"

"Always, sweet thing, always," Magnus said, waving goodbye to them as they urged their horses out of the castle gates and onto the road. The morning sun shone upon them and their horses to warm them despite the mountain breeze. Vincent rode next to Catherine at the front of the convoy, his eyes never straying from his wife for more than a couple moments, as if he believed she was going to disappear suddenly.

Tess and JT rode behind them in silence. They didn't have very much in common except for their bonds to the King and Queen. Whenever he thought that Tess wouldn't notice, JT would sneak a glance at her. The morning sun caught the copper and auburn in her hair and set it alight. Her eyes searched the road ahead of them for any obstacles, narrowing occasionally. She was aware of his sidelong looks, but decided not to comment.

Birds zoomed past them during their descent, tweeting and singing cheerfully as they flapped their wings and soared. Sunrise was in full swing: the sky painted with colors beyond the capability of humanity's comprehension, exploding into fruition in vibrant reds, pinks, and oranges. It was as if the sun was a flower, and its petals had unfurled to rest their gossamer warmth upon everything in sight. The crispness of the morning air remained as dew upon the rocks and the blades of mountain grasses.

The sounds of the village awakening below filled the morning air. Men shouted across the streets and wooden carts squeaked along, filled with tools of trade. Children ran about, dodging their mothers as they dashed off to meet their friends. It had been years since things had been so light in the kingdom. The proverbial dark cloud that had hung over them for decades was finally gone.

"They're finally happy because of you," Vincent remarked proudly, his eyes tracing her face.

Catherine smirked as she looked over the village. She took his hand in hers, "Because of _us._"

"You two are going to make me vomit over my horse," JT said, casting a glance at Tess so they could roll their eyes in sync.

"JT, my friend, when you meet someone like her, you'll understand," Vincent called back.

"I sincerely doubt I will allow myself to gaze upon any woman for half as long as you stare at her," JT retorted.

"What, like the way you stare at Tess?" Catherine jested, causing both JT and Tess to flush red.

They continued down the rest of the way in silence, with Vincent and Catherine holding hands between the gap of their horses. Instead of steering their steeds towards the village, Catherine led them down towards the Army's camp. Every man they passed, whether in the middle of conversation or finishing up a morning's workout, bowed deeply to greet the King and Queen as they rode towards Captain Lowen's tent.

"My Queen!" Someone shouted, bowing to address her from faraway.

"King Keller!" Another called, obviously someone Vincent knew well as the King called back in greeting.

Upon hearing the commotion, Captain Lowen emerged from his tent, bedraggled and bleary-eyed. He had only his thin sleeping clothes to keep his modesty when his eyes fell upon Vincent and Catherine.

"My Queen and King, forgive me, I had no idea that you would grace me with your presence this morning," Lowen said, inclining his head.

"Stow your groveling, Lowen, we need to talk," Catherine replied icily, sliding off of her horse. Vincent motioned for JT and Tess to follow suit and called a nearby soldier to watch the horses so they wouldn't wander off. Lowen smiled graciously and welcomed them into his tent. His desk was littered with scrolls and scrap pieces of parchment. The cot he had been sleeping on had been cast to the side, and his armor was lying in a heap in the corner.

"What can I do for you, Your Graces?" Lowen asked, self-consciously adjusting his sleeping robes.

"The King and I, along with our counterparts, are departing to the East to meet with Lucian Sind."

"How long shall you be gone?"

"Perhaps two weeks, maybe longer," Catherine replied, giving him a wary once-over before continuing, "The Army has been lying in wait for almost two years now. You haven't left this camp for months. I need to put strong men to good use. Order your men all over the kingdom to begin building tenements."

"I beg your pardon-,"

"Do _not _interrupt me, Captain," Catherine snapped, her tone testy, "Gather as many able-bodied villagers as well. The tenements will be built to stand seventy feet high and house as many people that are living in those tents in the valley."

"My lady, I-,"

It was Vincent's turn to lose his patience: "Your Queen is giving you an opportunity to put strong men to good use. Hear her out."

Catherine nodded. "My people shouldn't have to live in tents whilst their King and Queen live in a nearly empty castle. The tenements need to be large enough to accommodate at least three hundred people, and strong enough to last a decade. There are enough skilled workers starving in the village. Princess Heather will see to it that you will have the funds to feed them and pay them for their work.

"And should I hear, once I return, that not a single worker has been paid, but you've been taking the gold from my sister, I'll rip your armor off of you and throw you in the mud with the people you neglected to pay. Do you understand?"

Lowen looked at her incredulously. "I'm a strategist and a soldier, not a bricklayer."

Vincent smirked at the captain. "Never you worry, Captain, I'll make sure that you don't do it alone. I'm sure Captain Bishop would be eager to assist you."

"I'm training these men to fight-,"

Catherine waved her hand dismissively, "And if I have anything to say about it, they will have no one to fight in the first place. They need the work. See to it that you speak with some architects before you begin, yes? So I don't return to this place finding a sandcastle where public housing should be."

Lowen looked between Vincent and Catherine, probably figuring that he wouldn't survive more than a minute if he refused to take his orders from her. He swallowed his pride and bowed rather begrudgingly. "So Your Grace commands." With a smirk, Catherine, Vincent, JT, and Tess swept from the Captain's tent. Vincent pretended not to hear Lowen mutter, "_Bitch_," under his breath.

When they set off again, the sun had risen completely from its hiding place behind the horizon. Blue danced around the morning sky where reds and oranges had been just half an hour ago. The road- which led straight east from the edge of the Army's camp- was nothing more than packed earth that had been scorched periodically to clear away the ever-growing underbrush. Horse's hooves were so easily caked with mud that most would rather ride in the forest.

Trees lined either side of the road as they stemmed from the mountains behind them. Branches and leaves formed a canopy over their heads as they trotted on into the day. Every once in a while one of them would jump at the sound of a twig snapping or the rustle of leaves for fear of ambush. Wind whistled past them as it travelled north, lifting hair to tickle their faces. Squirrels and bunnies skirted from one side of the road to the other as the horses approached.

JT soon got the handle of riding his horse, but not without the help of Tess. She'd ride next to him and remind him to relax his grip on the reins or to clench his thighs harder around the saddle so he wouldn't be bounced off. He'd always find something sarcastic to retort back, at which Tess would always give a small chuckle as a sign that she understood his frustration.

Catherine and Vincent rode a couple yards ahead of them. They didn't say much as they rode together, mostly because they didn't need to say anything. For once, there was nothing to debate or worry for, not immediately anyway. While they trotted on, it seemed as the rest of the world had slowed to a halt to allow them some semblance of peace. Catherine had never been able to truly be herself, even when she was wearing her mask, for fear of someone finding out who she really was. It was only there in those woods, in the company of her closest allies, could she feel free enough to relax.

Vincent's nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, obviously smelling something Catherine could not. He handed her the reins to his horse, and before she could ask him what he was doing, he was gone.

"He's a fool in your company," JT called, shaking his head at his friend's childish antics. In a blink of an eye, Vincent had remounted his horse, which neighed in surprise. In his teeth, he had a single red rose, thorns and all.

Catherine laughed, taking the rose from his mouth as he took his reins back from her hands. "Thank you, kind sir."

He winked at his wife. "'Tis the only flower that can hold any semblance of your beauty."

"You are indeed a fool, Vincent Keller," she said, kissing him.

"Only a fool for you," he replied.

"How in the world can they kiss riding their horses at a trot?" JT asked Tess, absolutely flabbergasted.

Tess shrugged. "You'd be amazed what I've seen the best in my business do on horseback."

"The best in your busin-? Oh," JT's cheeks went pink again by Tess' crude comments. He'd never met a woman so blunt and… forward before. She was so calm and collected, so very confident of herself and her sexuality. "You're amazing, you know that?" he murmured, before realizing what he was saying.

She raised an eyebrow at him and laughed. "You are possibly the sweetest thing on this planet."

Vincent shook his head and leaned in to whisper to Catherine: "And he calls _me_ pathetic."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

It was another couple of hours before the forest thinned, the trees getting smaller and spaced more sporadically, like the placement of a blind seamstress' beads. The canopy of branches overhead gave way to the blinding midday sun, its rays singing and dancing over the landscape. Whereas the forests had been sheltered by mountains, the plains had nothing but rolling hills to break the monotony of the scenery. Oceans of green twisted and undulated under the gentle touch of the soft winds, not unlike the choppy waves upon a sea.

They slowed their horses to a walk, so Vincent and Catherine decided to wrap an arm around the other and enjoy their day.

JT scoffed. "Every waking moment they've got to be doing or saying something cheesy."

Tess looked at him sideways, coolly assessing her riding companion. "Everyone in this universe has the primal, carnal urge to seek oneness. Whether it be through sex or gods, the instinct to find inner peace is always there. Most make themselves miserable just settling for a meager little life whilst still believing in something more. We're stuck in a constant mood of dissatisfaction and disappointment because we believe that we're fragmented, broken pieces of a proverbial puzzle for the gods to put together.

"But Vincent and Catherine have obtained something people spend lifetimes hunting for: harmony. Notes to a dissonant chord that only sound right when they're played together. Either one may die tomorrow and both of them know it. Your mocking comments are merely a veiled attempt of hiding your jealousy."

"I'm not jealous-,"

"You are," she replied, not taking her eyes off of the road in front of them. "My profession is a dangerous one, JT. I have to be able to take one look at a client and judge the possible risks." Tess finally looked at him, her eyes bearing down upon him, "You can't hide from me. No one can."

They rode on in silence for a little while before JT asked, "Does it hurt?"

"What?"

"Watching them? Seeing her so happy?"

Tess sighed. "I will never love someone more than I love Catherine. I am happy to see her happy."

"But another part of you pains at the thought that you will never have happiness like hers."

"No one expects a prostitute to settle down. That's why I chose to be who I am. I have no fear for commitment or being tied down to one person." She sighed again and stared at Catherine and Vincent ahead of them, "What pains me is the prospect of her possibly losing Vincent. They're not invincible. They're not immortal."

JT understood. "And you don't want to see Catherine in pain if Vincent is wounded or killed."

"When she hurts, I hurt. When she cries, which is seldom, I cry. If she is in pain, I am in pain. She can feel my loneliness and I can feel her worry. So yes, part of me hurts to see her so happy when I am left to my own devices."

Silence reigned once more. Wind pushed and pulled waist-high bushels of grass to and fro, like the moon would bend the tide of an ocean to its will. They stopped to let the horses graze and rest whilst they stretched their sore legs. It would be several more hours before they would stop again, so Vincent and Catherine took the opportunity to spar on the open road.

Both the King and Queen could relax and exchange blows, light ones of course. What Catherine lacked in supernatural strength and reflexes, she made up for with her training and martial arts experience. Tess and JT stepped back to watch them twirl, duck, and lean around each other. They were like two cobras, fighting whilst being intertwined. Catherine could anticipate his swings like she had with so many of her other opponents.

Sometimes, Vincent wasn't fast enough to avoid her roundhouse kicks, but he was definitely strong enough to withstand any of her blows. They didn't smile, their faces contorted in concentration. Catherine could see him grimace before he lunged, so she delivered a kick to his outstretched knee that made him tumble over.

"All of the mightiest fortresses in the world must have a solid foundation," Catherine admonished, standing over her prone husband, "You don't need to pull a castle apart brick-by-brick, you just need to weaken the foundation." Vincent raised an eyebrow and kicked out to knock his wife off of her feet to land next to him.

"Agh," she groaned, having landed on her backside upon the packed earth.

"Who won that?" Vincent asked JT and Tess, who had been watching with rapt attention.

"I'd say you're pretty evenly matched. You're faster, but she has better training."

Catherine sat up, rubbing her backside. "I'd like to see you as a normal man, my dear husband."

He stood and offered her his hand. "I would probably be dead already, my Queen."

They set off again soon after their horses were properly rested. As they rode, Catherine felt as if she could see the curvature of the earth between the rolling grassy plains. There was no end in sight: no mountains, rivers, deserts, or settlements of any kind to break the monotony. Sunlight was becoming an enemy to them, beating upon them in hot, rolling waves. As the day wore on into afternoon, they were all covered in a healthy sheen of sweat.

Vincent seemed to be the most uncomfortable, and that did not go unnoticed by his wife. "Are you alright, Vincent?" Catherine asked, making sure that he wasn't going to fall off of his horse anytime soon.

"It's fine… I just don't have good memories associated with these plains," he answered solemnly, his eyes watching the horizon for any hint of enemy activity. "The last time I was here physically, I was starving and dehydrated. I fought for days on end. The green you see was almost completely red with the blood of both my brethren and my enemies. My face was sliced open from temple to jaw." He gestured to his scar.

"And mentally? When was the last time you saw this place in your mind?"

"I had a nightmare that the Plains were being consumed by a wildfire."

"And?"

Vincent bristled, "I'd rather not speak of it, m'lady."

JT leaned over to Tess. "This is the Plain of Longfellow," he pointed to her right, "we set up camp over there. There were thousands of us then, I'd never seen so many knights in one area before. I had two other doctors working with me in my medical tent." He paused. "So many of the knights came to us with symptoms of diseases caught from being in such close proximity to wounded men. More than half of our casualties were the result of living in such terrible conditions, rather than being cut by an enemy's sword.

"Mind you, there were plenty of enemy swords to be cut by. The rebels had more than twice our number, but most were untrained farmers and trade workers." JT paused as he regarded Vincent's slumped shoulders in front of them. His friend seemed to be reminiscing as well. "There were so many dead bodies," he pointed to a valley to his left, a dip between two large hills, "We had to stack them in great piles and burn them so they wouldn't spread disease."

Vincent could hear every word JT was saying to Tess, the images of memories flashing in his mind like paintings captured in time. He clenched his jaw before saying to Catherine: "We were no more than half a day's ride from the King's castle, but we might as well have been years away for the lot of good it did us. He sent no support, no food, no water, and no reinforcements. We had to dig twenty feet down to get to water, but it was contaminated by all of the rotting corpses soaking into the ground."

He snapped back to reality, as if he had been in some kind of trance. "If I only ever accomplish one thing as King, it will be that no one else will ever have to live like we did." Vincent looked sideways at his horrified wife. "So now you understand why it was so easy for the Army to pledge allegiance to you. They believe that you will fight for them and keep them safe."

"I will," Catherine assured him softly, "If all goes well with Lucian Sind, then we will have no need for an Army to keep us safe. You and I have seen far too much bloodshed for our lifetimes."

The day wore on into evening: sunset came quickly and had strewn reds and pinks all over the western horizon as the night crept slowly up from the east. Heat dissipated as sweat cooled and dried on their now tanned skin. Crickets chirped and birds circled patches of bald in between the oceans of grass. The moon hung above them, large and imposing like a ghost haunting the plains.

Vincent's ears pricked like a dog's would at the sound of activity up ahead, presumably beyond the crest of the hill they were going up. "There's a camp ahead. Perhaps ten men."

"Can you tell if any of them is Lucian Sind?" JT asked.

"I wasn't properly introduced when our armies were slaughtering each other," Vincent snapped, "Some of his men call him 'the Wall' because of his enormous stature. He shouldn't be too hard to pick out." Catherine doubted there could be anyone larger than her husband, but she didn't say anything.

As they came over the top of the hill, Catherine could see that Vincent was right: there were about ten tents sitting on the left side of the road, semi-circled around a center fire pit. Ten men, one for each tent, sat around the fire and ate, totally unaware of the presence of the King and Queen. Tess gripped her reins uneasily: she was the only one of her group who had never been in battle before. If she were cornered, she'd be helpless.

They dismounted their horses and walked the rest of the way so as to not alarm the men. Nine men rose from their places around the fire, swords drawn and positioned to attack. Catherine got a look at the one man who still sat, his black beard dotted with grey whiskers. His armor was dull and dented, looking as if he had seen many battles but had never bothered to repair his armor. His grey eyes watched the approaching party with apprehension.

"Swords away, boys," the sitting man barked, his voice deep and sonorous. "Be these travelers the King and Queen?" he asked.

"And would you be Lucian Sind?" Catherine inquired in return.

"That I am, Your Grace," Sind said, rising from his place as his men sheathed their swords. Catherine could now understand why his men had nicknamed him 'the Wall'. He was almost a hand taller than Vincent, and two hands broader. His frame was massive, not unlike that of a bear or a buffalo. His black hair was tied into a ponytail so it wouldn't get caught in his armor.

Vincent and Catherine let their horses free to graze before approaching Sind. His men watched them with baleful glares. "I am Queen Catherine of House Chandler, executioner of the former King Thomas of House Chandler," Catherine said, keeping her voice harsh and deep so that her femininity wouldn't be perceived as weakness.

"You?" Sind asked disbelievingly. "You are the vigilante? Responsible for killing one hundred rebel men?"

"Thirty, actually," Catherine corrected.

"I killed thirty-eight," Vincent said, "the remaining thirty-two were the rebels our thirty knights managed to kill."

"And you are?" Sind asked, turning his eyes upon Vincent.

Vincent seemed to recognize him just as he recognized Vincent. "I am Knight Vincent of House Keller, your crowned King."

Sind inclined his head. "Forgive me, my King, for giving you such an ugly scar," he apologized, pointing to the scar on Vincent's face.

**I didn't know where else to end it, honestly. But hey, Vincent's going to hold a teensy grudge against the man who scarred him for life. That's worth something.**


	18. Caught in the Crossfire

**AN: Aww snap Lucian Sind gave Vincent his scar two years ago… Prepare for a sass fest.**

Sind inclined his head. "Forgive me, my King, for giving you such an ugly scar," he apologized, pointing to the scar on Vincent's face.

Catherine's somewhat guarded smile slid right off of her face. "What did you just say?"

"I mean, he certainly fought well enough and killed plenty of my men… right up to the point I sliced his pretty face open," Sind growled, his men reaching for the pommels of the swords.

Catherine tried to lunge at him, her face contorted with rage. Vincent caught her before she could do anything and had her arms pinned behind her back. "_Let me go, I'll teach him to show his King some respect,_" she snarled, struggling at Vincent's restraint. Her husband actually had a hard time of holding her: she was much stronger than she looked.

"I should show respect to the man who killed hundreds of men who just wanted their freedom? I should show respect to the daughter of the worst King who ever ruled from the throne? You demand respect, but you do not _command_ respect. _Sit the fuck down, boys,_" Sind ordered his men, who looked as if they were going to try to take on the King and Queen. He looked past the still fuming Catherine to Tess and JT. "Who are these people? Assassins? More soldiers?"

Tess stepped forward. "A prostitute and a doctor, actually. We are the confidants of the King and Queen, and are here as counsel. Catherine, darling, we aren't here to fight. We're here to discuss the future of your reign, and I really don't think ripping 'the Wall' apart is the best course of action." However begrudgingly, Catherine relaxed in Vincent's hold. Her husband released her soon after that, relieved for the fact he wouldn't have been able to hold her much longer anyway.

Sind watched the Queen carefully. "You're nothing but a savage with a pretty face."

"I've protected my people for seven years from rapists and murderers," Catherine spat, her voice cold but her eyes were full of fire.

"You annihilated one hundred rebel men."

"They obviously weren't following orders from you, otherwise they'd be attacking the Army's camp instead of the innocents in the village," JT piped up, defending his Queen.

Sind nodded. "I have no quarrel with innocents." He eyed Catherine once more. "We need to speak civilly if we are to sort out any of this horse shit."

She clenched her jaw before saying: "I agree." As much as she wanted to hate him for maiming her husband, she knew that Sind only had the best of intentions. He had only been fighting against her father's tyrannical rule when he fought Vincent. That didn't mean she was going to like him any time soon.

Sind gestured to the only half-completed circle around the fire. "Come. Sit. I want to speak to you informally before having to make any decisions." Tess and JT made sure the horses were secured for the night before joining the party. Catherine and Vincent had grabbed their packs so sit upon, while all of Sind's men had logs to balance on.

"So," Sind began, "how long have you two been together?"

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"I'm making conversation to make things a little easier. We're trying to get on the same side, aren't we?" He took a swig from his wineskin and passed it to the King.

Vincent accepted the whiskey with a nod while Catherine answered, "Vincent and I were partners for a couple of months before courtship. He discovered my true identity as the vigilante and- wounded ego aside- offered to help."

"You should have seen them. It was insufferable, watching them make moon-eyes at each other for months on end," Tess jibed, coming to sit next to Catherine.

"Sickening, really," JT supplemented as he took the last space next to Tess.

"You two are lucky we love you so much," Catherine grumbled, taking a swig of the whiskey that Vincent had passed to her.

Sind looked between the royal couple and their friends with a quizzical expression. "I'm relieved that you're better at taking insults than your predecessor."

Catherine reclined to rest her back upon her stuffed pack. "So what's your story? How did 'the Wall' become the symbol of the rebellion?"

Sind grimaced. "It's not a pretty story, Your Grace."

"And who says I like pretty stories?"

He paused for a moment before beginning. "I was a knight, actually. Long before your time, my King, but King Chandler was already well into his mad reign. I was a cocky son of a bitch, but I loved my country with everything I had. I never doubted my orders until my battalion was sent to burn down a village here in the East, which had rumors of rebellion skirting around the townspeople. The King got wind of said rumors, and wanted to eliminate any threat of dissent.

"But when we got there, all we found were dozens of farmers and their starving families. The King had been taking the crops the farmers had been producing, and sold them to the lords of the West and South. A group of little children watched us approach, but instead of running and hiding, they screamed, '_Leave us alone! We have no more food!'_

"The irony is that the King's order to murder some two hundred innocents created an actual threat. I decided to disobey the orders, and challenged any man in my battalion to try to burn the village down with me protecting it. Every single man threw down their swords and renounced their vows to the King. We," Sind swept his hand to gesture to his men, "are the only ones of my original battalion that have survived this long. Most of my men died at your hand, actually," he nodded towards Vincent, "at the Battle of Longfellow."

Vincent bowed his head. "I make no excuses for the lives that I have taken, only that I thought what I was doing was in service of my kingdom. I only hope to reconcile your losses by properly taking care of _everyone _I've sworn to protect. Including the families of the rebels I've killed in my years of service."

Sind turned to the Queen. "What of you, then? What have you done for your people other than hack apart rapists and murderers?"

Catherine smirked. "I'm glad you asked. I can't say anything to the competence of the man I left in charge, but I have ordered the construction of public housing all over the kingdom. Soldiers that have just been sitting idle for the past two years may be put to work by building tenements for people who have only been living in tents on the outskirts of villages. After that, I'll order for a prison to be constructed."

"For people who disagree with you?" Sind challenged.

She shook her head. "For the people I'd been killing up until a couple of weeks ago. The previous justice system was deeply flawed, and dealt out cruel punishments for petty crimes whilst ignoring the victims of heinous acts of violence. Rapists and murderers will be taken off of the street and rehabilitated in the prisons."

Sind looked impressed. "It's a radical notion, Your Grace. I only hope you're not just trying to get me on your side by waving about social programs in front of my face."

"If I ever sway from my promises, Lucian, I'll let you take the throne right out from under me. A Queen who cannot serve is no Queen."

Tess decided to interject. "I'd be willing to attest to the validity of what Catherine has said. I personally oversaw her giving orders to Captain Lowen, as well as giving Captain Bishop say in the goings-on of construction. Whether or not they'll be up to the task remains to be seen, but I believe that the soldiers in the Army would jump at the chance of _actually_ serving their country."

Sind frowned. "I'll take that under advisement, miss…?"

"Call me Tess, good sir," Tess told him, winking for his benefit. JT bristled slightly, but chose to stay silent.

"If you'll excuse me for the night, Your Graces. I'll need to confer with my men before we move forward with any negotiations or treaties," Sind sighed, nodding to his men.

"I agree," Catherine said, nodding her head towards him before gesturing for her companions to leave with her.

They set up their camp one hundred yards away from Sind's: across the road and farther up the hill. The sun that had, only hours ago, been burning them to a crisp was now hiding beneath the horizon. All of the warmth from the midday sun had faded away to leave a cool breeze in its wake. Their packs only held tents large enough for one person, so the married couple just had to settle for sleeping in adjacent sleeping quarters.

Catherine laid her swords next to her blankets inside of her tent before she settled in, not totally ruling out being ambushed by Sind and his men. She was exhausted from a day's ride, and welcomed the coming sleep. Only after laying awake for several minutes did she finally drift off into deep slumber.

Vincent, however, did not fall asleep right away. All of the memories of the plains they were staying on haunted him, keeping him on the brink of exhaustion and awareness. He heard JT, Tess, and Catherine all falling asleep around him. No matter how hard he tried and no amount of trying to listen to his wife's even breathing could lull him away as well.

He knew that Catherine kept her swords close by, for fear of being attacked in the night. Vincent did not share that fear: he knew that Lucian Sind was honorable enough to attack on the battlefield. His mind raced as he tried to account for all of the reasons they had given Sind to trust them. Their intentions were made clear, but it remained to be seen whether or not Catherine's plan to provide services for her poorer subjects would come to fruition.

Vincent closed his eyes and let his other senses branch outward. He could smell Catherine's flower oil that she usually dabbed on as perfume. The scent of the grass surrounding them was the most prominent after that, but he could also detect a whiff of the dying embers from Sind's fire almost one hundred yards away.

His ears strained to hear past the rhythmic breathing of his companions and the rustling of the grass. He inhaled deeply, focusing his energy on reaching for voices. It was only a matter of time until he could hear the deep voice of Sind, coming to him at a volume no greater than a whisper.

"…_gods help me, but I believe them_," Sind told his men, who had stayed around the fire to give him counsel.

"_I can't believe that little woman is the vigilante that evaded capture for seven years,"_ one piped up.

"_Did you see the scars on her hands and arms, though? Looked like throwing-knife practice injuries. I think she's the real thing," _added another.

_"She lunged at me without hesitation, but I can't tell if she's fierce or just insane," _Sind mused.

"_And what of the King? Do you think he's any better than his predecessor?" _

_ "From what I've seen, he's a damn good fighter. He served in the Army under the mad King, so I assume he follows orders without hesitation."_

_ "He probably lets the Queen order him around," _one of his men suggested slyly.

Sind grunted before saying: "_If his vision is similar to his wife's, I believe that the kingdom has much to gain from their new King and Queen."_

_ "Does that mean you'll surrender?"_

_ "I'm considering it," _Sind sighed. "_I'm getting old, lads. We all are. I'm so sick of fighting my own people."_

_ "I agree," _another said, his voice lending to the fact that he was a little older than the rest of his comrades, even Sind. "_Gods know we've lost enough of the people we care about fighting against the King. And now that King is dead, and by his own daughter's hand, no less. It's a miracle we've lived this long." _

The other men made noises of concurrence. Sind moved to stand, his clothes rustling, and said, "_Cyrell, I need you to send a raven back to camp. Let them know that I will return and issue orders to disband the Rebellion. Every man will pack his things and prepare to return to their homes and families."_

_ "I don't think they'll be too happy about that, Lucian. Most of these men have lost people they care about in this fight."_

_ "And you think I haven't?"_ Sind challenged. _"If any man wants to dispute my orders, I'll see to him myself." _

"_Yes, sir."_ Vincent heard the men retire to their tents, all but the exception of one, who was taking time to write a letter to the rebel camp. Shortly thereafter, the flutter of raven's wings let him know that the letter had been sent.

He let his senses return to normal, a grin on his face. His heart soared with relief at the prospect of new allies and an end to the war he'd been fighting for years. He touched his scar, and decided he wasn't going to hold a grudge against Sind for doing what he did.

Vincent rolled to the side and whispered to the still slumbering Catherine: "We don't have to be afraid anymore. Tomorrow, your kingdom will be one." He turned on his side and closed his eyes, sleep finally able to accept him into its willing embrace.

XxXxXxXxXxX

"So?" Catherine asked Sind the next morning, her heart beating with trepidation as she cautiously hoped for a good answer. Their parties had gathered around the empty fire pit: it seemed to be the only place where everyone was comfortable. Sind's men regarded the Queen and King with veiled suspicion, guardedly analyzing their every move.

Sind smiled reassuringly. "I've issued an order for the Rebellion to disarm and go its separate ways. We no longer have a reason to be fighting against the crown." Vincent already knew the outcome of their discussion with Sind, but he breathed another sigh of relief with his wife and friends. Sind leaned in and added to the Queen, his smile gone, "_However, if you fail in your duties, I will personally amass an even greater army to bring you down."_

Catherine nodded, unable to stop herself from smiling. "I'm relieved that we can finally put this war to rest. But the East is not as structured as the South and West are. Mind you, the North is no better off. I believe that you should be the man to oversee the reconstruction and reunification of the East with the rest of the kingdom. Should you accept, I'll name you as warden of the East, protector of the proletariat and breaker of chains."

Sind extended his hand for her to shake. She took it, and he bowed his head. "T'would be my honor to continue to serve my people. Thank you." He shook Vincent's hand as well. "Why don't you visit my camp as a gesture of good faith? The newly crowned King and Queen should address their former enemies."

"You and your people were never my enemies, Warden," Catherine said, "And I swear on my honor as the Queen that I shall serve them with the same vigilance that I serve the rest of my subjects."

"I should think they'd like to hear those words coming out of your mouth, m'lady," Sind said.

They broke down their tents after breakfast, making sure that all of their supplies could be packed away in neat little bundles so the packs wouldn't be overstuffed. Sind and his men rode ahead of the King and Queen, both for security reasons and for lack of knowledge of the area. Catherine and Vincent had no knowledge of the plains before them, so they just followed Sind's lead.

It was another half a day of riding, the hot sun bearing fiercely down upon their already burnt skin. Vincent was glad that JT had insisted upon everyone carrying their weight in water: there were no streams or lakes to be found to refill their wineskins. Both the people and their horses were drenched in sweat before it was even high noon.

Around mid-afternoon, Vincent heard something very familiar grace his ears: the hustle and bustle of a large settlement. Only moments after that, a skyline of a village twice the size of the one below the castle emerged from behind the horizon. Catherine and Tess gasped aloud at the enormity of the Rebellion's camp.

Tents, some the size of houses, were propped up sporadically to cover the otherwise barren landscape. Grass had been trampled into streets of dirt by the constant foot traffic of soldiers. Most of the men milling about didn't look like fighters: most were young, skinny, and wearing armor only made of tightly woven grass. Horses were tethered to posts on the outskirts of the camp, stamping their hooves and swishing their tails irritably at the nagging flies. Fires, with space enough around them for a dozen people, were being used to cook meat and boil water. Lines of rope were secured between tent poles to hang sweaty or washed clothing out to dry.

It didn't look like just a primitive settlement for savages: it looked like a city.

"How many men are here?" Tess asked.

"Some three thousand, m'lady," Sind replied smugly. "And all of them should be heading home within a fortnight. _OI, Jaime! Did you receive my message?_" he shouted at a man who was running towards them. Jaime was apparently Sind's second in command, left behind to hold down the rebels' camp.

"Lucian!" Jaime yelled, waiting until he had come into speaking distance of Sind before saying: "Lucian, they want to hear the news from you. They refuse to believe that you would've surrendered to a bitch and her murderer husband. No offense, Your Graces," he inclined his head to the King and Queen.

Sind nodded, his face grim and his expression wary. "I want them all in the amphitheater. Tell them that the Warden of the East demands their presence." He shot a wink at Catherine. Jaime nodded and jogged back to the camp, with them following after him on their horses. Jaime went from tent to tent, beating on canvas walls and shouting, calling every man to the amphitheater in the center of the camp.

Sind and his men escorted Vincent, Catherine, JT, and Tess to the amphitheater on foot, making sure that wandering eyes wouldn't turn to wandering swords or arrows. As they walked, they were aware of hundreds of eyes following their every move. Vincent knew that if they were betrayed by Sind, or even attacked by Sind's men, they would stand no chance against the sheer number of rebels in the camp.

Tess' heart pounded in her chest as she shared Vincent's fear of being ambushed. For years, she'd lived within a hundred yards of the most dangerous man on the planet, but she had never been so sure that if hell broke loose, she'd be one of the first to fall. JT gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as they walked side-by-side, but all she could offer in return was a tight smile. She knew he was afraid as well.

As they entered the amphitheater (a clearing with a platform large enough for ten men in the center, and room for thousands around it), Catherine was struck by the size of the force she was up against. Almost everyone who had been commanded to report to the gathering had done so already, waiting in trepidation for the news they'd been promised they would receive. Men, ranging from the size of children to the size of Vincent, were packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Most of them were gaunt and filthy, as if they hadn't been fed or had a bath in months.

All of them had spent years hating the crown and what it represented. All of them had spent years fighting Catherine's father, and now Catherine walked before them.

She and Vincent followed Sind onto the platform, their chins raised high. Tess and JT waited at the base of the stairs behind the platform, hidden from the crowd. The afternoon sun blazed high above them, illuminating them from behind like some divine beacon of light.

The crowd was as silent as a soft breeze, torn between watching their general and glaring at the royal couple. Sind raised his hands above his head, as if surrendering to Vincent and Catherine. "Brothers! I address you no longer as the Commander of the Rebellion. I speak as the Warden of the East, so named by Queen Catherine of House Chandler and King Vincent of House Keller." His men shouted and booed in disapproval before Sind waved his hands and boomed with that deep baritone of his: "_Silence!"_ His men obeyed, if only out of habit. "The mad King was killed at the hands of his daughter, Queen Catherine.

"Believe me when I say that this woman is the vigilante that we've been searching for. She protected her people under her father's nose when no one else would. If you don't respect them as your rulers, at least respect them as some of the greatest fighters that ever lived."

Catherine stepped forward. "People of the East, you have been wronged by the men of my House, and I hereby seek to rectify those wrongs. I seek not to rule, but to serve. My husband and I have seen the injustices dealt by monsters in men's clothing, and we promise not to follow in their footsteps. I will make no other promises to you. You've been lied to enough by the crown."

Sind spoke again. "You see?" He continued to speak on behalf of Vincent and Catherine, but Catherine was only half paying attention as she saw a flash of movement from the center of the crowd. All she saw was a bow being drawn in the direction of Sind, the gleam of an arrowhead in the midday sun, and the narrowing of eyes in order to aim. The men around the man aiming at Sind moved to tackle him as Catherine pushed Sind off of the platform.

But it was too late.

The arrow had found a different target. The would-be assassin couldn't draw again because half of the crowd was attacking him, knocking his weapon from his hands and sending him flying to the ground. Sind was unharmed, only having to fall a couple of feet off of the wooden platform. His brothers at arms rushed to check on him anyway, concern for their leader had been ingrained into their minds.

Vincent paid them no mind as the sight of Catherine, his lioness, bleeding out from an arrow wound, knocked the breath from his lungs.

All Catherine could see before everything faded to black was her beloved rushing towards her.

**Cliffhanger! I wonder how the rebels are going to deal with the man who tried to kill their leader. And how Vincent's going to react to Catherine getting shot. *Evil laugh***

**PS: Judache English has some great stuff, and they're planning on putting up another story, so go check it out!**


	19. Mahila Shira

**AN: Hey wow I think this is my last chapter. I didn't expect it, but I just got to it and I'm like: there's not really much else I need to cover. The war's over. Catherine and Vincent are together. The Army is rebuilding what King Chandler had destroyed. Soooo yeah. **

Catherine's back hit the wood of the platform with a hollow thud. She would have screamed if she had breath for it, her lungs clawing for any semblance of breath. A fire was raging in her gut, but not the same kind of soft burn that she felt when Vincent was inside of her; it was a maelstrom. She glanced down at her stomach only to find the back half of an arrow shaft sticking out of her.

In all of her years as the vigilante and all of the injuries she'd sustained, she'd never quite felt like this. It was worse than a thousand punches and knife cuts. She faded momentarily, the edges of her vision losing to tentacles of unconsciousness. The image of her crying husband brought her back.

She couldn't feel his hands on her face: every other sensation crumbled in comparison to the mighty arrow sticking out of her. Though the arrow had been sharp, the pain wasn't precise. It was immense, bursting like gunpowder, like a battering ram against a wooden gate.

"_Catherine," _Vincent's voice came out his mouth looking like a shout but when it reached her ears it was no louder than a whisper. Her eyes darted from his face to the sky behind him: blind, unseeing. Another wave of agony crashed into her, but all she could get out was a strangled gasp. All she could hear in her dull state was the sound of her heart hammering away.

Catherine was aware of someone else at her side. JT's expert hands put pressure on her wound surrounding the arrow. Of course, that wasn't pleasant at all. The world came rushing back: the air exploding into chaos as the crowd yelled around her. She could feel Vincent's hands on her face and the hot sun bearing down on her.

"Agh," she cried, "naagh." Guttural noises were all she could wrap her tongue around for several moments, illustrating her pain through the blessings of human speech. She looked into Vincent's eyes and found the strength to speak.

The first words out of her mouth weren't exactly revelation: "Agh, there's a fucking arrow in me." She gritted her teeth as she inhaled.

"My Queen," JT said, "it's not that I don't love hearing the sound of your voice, but I'd suggest not talking. Save your strength."

"JT, I have enough strength, _thank you very much_. Fuck," Catherine swore, accidently jerking away from JT and scraping the arrow sticking out of her back along the wood of the platform.

"How's she doin'?" Sind asked, rushing up the platform stairs to check on his guests.

"I'll be fine. Get the bastard who did this and take him _alive_. I will dole out my own brand of justice," Catherine spat, her vision swimming with tears. "Vincent, I need a knife."

Her husband furrowed his brow in confusion. "What? Why?"

She took it from him, her hands shaking with pain as she twisted to reach under her back and cut off the tip of the arrow that was sticking out of her. Now it would be easier for her to be transported to the medical tent. Vincent picked her up and carried her, bridal-style through the crowd, careful not to jostle her too much. Catherine was in too much pain to notice Sind picking up the very bruised perpetrator by the scruff of his neck from the crowd of angry men.

Though Catherine didn't bother to look at them, the respectful gazes of some three thousand previously rebellious men followed her. She had saved their leader, her supposed enemy, and had taken an arrow for him without hesitation. The Queen had regarded them the same as she had regarded her other subjects. The men who had sworn to hate the crown for eternity found themselves swearing allegiance to her.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Catherine refused to fade to unconsciousness as JT slowly extracted the arrow from her stomach. She grasped her husband's hand with all of her might, gritting her teeth and inhaling with shallow gasps as the wooden shaft slowly exited her flesh. Her head wrenched backwards onto the cot in the medical tent as another wave of pain wracked her quaking form.

She heard a snap and a groan from Vincent, who's hand was still stuck in her vice-like grip. "Ahh," Vincent seethed, "You broke my hand, love."

Catherine rolled her eyes, letting her focus slip from the pain. "You'll heal immediately, you big baby."

Tess laughed through her tears from her seat next to JT. "I'm glad that you're not taking this seriously," she said, patting her friend's arm.

"Don't worry m'lady," JT assured her. "I'm sure childbirth will be a breeze after this." Tess and Catherine's expressions fell slightly when he said that, but the Queen let out another yell as JT staunched the bleeding by cauterization.

The only thing keeping her awake was the thought of wanting to kill the man who did this to her. She gripped her husband's hand even tighter, her rage giving her strength. "Where's Sind?" she hissed.

"My Queen, I really think you should rest-," JT began.

"You think I give a shit about that? I've spent enough of my life biding my fucking time and resting. Patch me up, doctor, agh," Catherine hissed again as JT did what he did best. He stitched her wound closed on both sides of her torso and then wrapped around ten yards of gauze over her wounds so that she couldn't bend her torso enough to rip the stitching.

"Catherine, I really don't think you should be amping to talk to Sind," Vincent warned.

"Don't get all protective, Vincent," she spat, pain still clouding certain parts of her mind, "it's not a good look on you." Catherine dropped his hand, only to seize against the cot once more as her wound gave a painful jolt. She tried controlling her breaths through clenched teeth, squeezing her eyes shut as she groaned.

Vincent sat by her side, silently watching her suffer, his broken hand resetting and healing back into place. His eyes trailed over her pain-wracked form, helpless and resigned to watch her moan and groan in pain. While the arrow that had gone through her would cause her pain for weeks, Vincent would've healed in a matter of minutes. He clenched his hands into fists, wanting very much to punch something, preferably the man who shot his wife.

Catherine lost consciousness soon after that, clinging feverishly to the linen fabric of the bloody cot beneath her. She tossed and turned in her sleep, her skin covered in a sheen of sweat. Even in her dreams, she was in an unbelievable amount of pain. Cries of pain came through every once in a while, but she refused to shed a single tear.

Vincent stroked her face with the backside of his hand. "Why do you always have to be so fucking stubborn, love?" He kissed her forehead and left her with Tess and JT as he swept out of the tent.

Tess and JT sat next to each other on the cot across from the sleeping Queen. Tess was miserable, unable to take her eyes off of her friend. "I hate seeing her in so much pain. How much longer is this supposed to last?" she asked JT.

JT patted her consolingly on her shoulder. "Honestly, I'm surprised she stayed conscious for as long as she did. Men twice her size have bled out removing the arrow without medical assistance. I won't recommend much physical exercise for at least a week, but the gods know she won't listen to me."

Tess smirked. "She only listened to her mother, even when she was a child. Catherine used to complain to me all the time about her training with her mother. '_I'm sore. I cut my hands. I never want to swing another sword ever again._'," she mocked a little girl's voice. "But I knew how much she loved it. Even when she got wounded from one of her patrols, she never took more than a couple of nights off before plunging in again."

"Has she ever been wounded like this before?" JT asked.

Tess nodded. "She's come home with more injuries, but none of them were this severe. Catherine is too good at what she does to get seriously wounded. Of course, all of that goes out the window when she's protecting someone."

"She saved a man's life."

"So? Sind is replaceable. There are tons of people qualified to be a Warden of the East, but there is only one true Queen. Catherine is this kingdom's only hope for a good future, but she has to stop sacrificing herself for anyone who gets caught in the crossfire." Tess looked at JT, her soft eyes boring into his own. "She would have died today if it weren't for you."

JT was about to shrug it off before Tess' lips captured his in a kiss. They were about to deepen the kiss when a gruff voice said, "It's about time." They broke apart guiltily as the now-awake Catherine regarded them with a tired smile. Her throat was raw from all the yelling and groaning she'd been doing, so her voice was much hoarser than usual. "You two were flirting practically the entire time over here. How long have I been asleep?"

JT glanced out of the tent flap to regard the sky. "It's almost dawn, so I would say you've been out for a good twelve hours. You gave us quite a scare there."

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "This wound isn't fatal, JT. I'm not a doctor and even I know that."

He shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I mean that you were acting like a completely different person when I was operating on you."

Catherine winced as she propped herself up her elbows. "I don't know if you knew this, but it's really hard being kind to people when there's a fucking hole that got shot through you. Pain makes people cruel, JT."

Tess smiled and took her friend's hand. "I think you need to tell that to your husband."

"Vincent?" Catherine realized that her lover wasn't in the medical tent with them. "Where is he?"

"You kind of ran him off," Tess chided her gently. "You told him that he shouldn't try to be so protective of you."

Cat rolled her eyes. "He obviously wasn't doing a very good job of it in the first place, I mean for gods' sake _look_ at me." She gestured to her gauzed torso.

JT snorted. "He's blaming himself for what happened."

"What? _I _jumped in front of the arrow. _I _pushed Sind out of the way. There's no one to blame here but _me._" Catherine hissed as she tried to push herself into a sitting position. JT rushed forward to push her back but the Queen served him with a warning glare. "Thank you for stitching me up, JT, but I don't need a fucking babysitter. I'm going to go find my husband." She grabbed her swords which had been stashed underneath her cot and hobbled out of the tent into the dark.

Most of the camp was asleep: the hype from the day before not being able to keep them awake for all hours. She made her way, slowly, between tents and skirting around cold firepits. The pain in her side was pulling at her, as if dragging her to the depths of an ocean, drowning her. Catherine's breaths came out in puffs, grunting every step of the way. She refused to let her pain stop her, though, and powered through it.

She eventually found Vincent sitting on an overturned log on the outskirts of the encampment, waiting for the sun to rise. He was still in the same clothes that he had worn the day before, and his eyes were dark with anger. Catherine became slightly alarmed by the amount of blood on his clothes and hands.

"Vincent," she cried, kneeling before him and taking his hands into hers. "Whose blood is this?"

"It's yours," he replied quietly, not looking at her. "But I'd prefer it if it were mine."

Catherine slapped him, hard enough for his head to rock back and her hand to sting from the blow. "Don't you fucking dare say that, Vincent. I hate to see you in pain."

"I would've healed completely by now," he hissed. "I would be fine. But you…I've never felt so helpless. You were screaming and yelling and all I could do was hold your hand and try to stay in control. What the hell kind of husband am I that I can't even protect my own wife?"

Catherine laughed and pulled up her sleeves. "Vincent, look at my scars. _Look_," she commanded when he didn't, "I am no stranger to pain. But I'll heal, just as I always have. Yes, I feel like I've been kicked in the side by a fat donkey, but it's nothing I can't handle. Just because you're my husband doesn't mean that you're charged with protecting me."

"I was your personal guardsman, Catherine," he snapped miserably. "When you were laying there on the platform, I couldn't see anything in your eyes for the first minutes. Your eyes were open, but you couldn't see anything. I thought I was losing you."

Catherine sighed and heaved her aching body onto the log next to him. "I was dazed, that's all. Besides," she took his hand that was covered in her dried blood, "I wouldn't let myself die without you. I refused to lose consciousness, because I knew that I probably wouldn't have woken up. _You _kept me rooted in place. Granted, I wasn't the nicest person to you, but you stayed with me." She leaned to put her head on his shoulder.

"What shall we do with the man who shot you?" Vincent asked.

"I'll kill him. Trial by combat," she sighed.

Vincent looked at her sideways. "Are you sure you're up for that?"

"With you by my side, anything is possible," she grimaced, "Gods, that's cheesy, isn't it?"

He chuckled. "I feel the same way, cheesy or not. You promise if I tell you something that you won't laugh?"

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "I make no promises, brave sir Knight."

"Months ago, when I first found out that you were the vigilante, I honestly thought you were a goddess," she made a face at that, but he continued, "As in an _actual_ goddess, not metaphorical. When I first became a Knight, some of the men in my platoon were from the North that loved to tell stories of their gods. In the North, they have different deities than the rest of us. I'm sure your mother told you."

Catherine nodded, "But I never knew anything specific."

Vincent continued: "The Northern goddesses fight alongside their male counterparts, unlike the gods that I've been brought up with. There's a goddess named _Mahila Shira_, which translates to lioness. She fights to protect those who worship her from devils and demons that rise up from hell. And when I saw you after you'd taken your mask off for the first time, I thought that you were _Mahila Shira _incarnate.

"But that arrow," he gently prodded her side where she'd been shot, "had struck my goddess. And I felt like a devout man whose altar had been spat upon. I was terrified, because I had to be reminded by a fucking arrow that you're not invincible." His eyes flashed golden. He shut them with a grimace. "I'm struggling to keep myself from ripping that man apart."

Catherine cupped his cheek. "Vincent, look at me," he opened his eyes, "_I _will sentence him to death and swing the killing sword myself. You would want to do the same if you were shot."

"She who passes the sentence should swing the sword," Vincent mused. "I still think you should wait until you're healed up. I don't want you to cause any more permanent damage to yourself." He smirked, "On the plus side, JT said childbirth will be a breeze for you after this."

Catherine's face fell, her eyes darkening before pulling away from him. "Vincent, I'm not going to be having any children."

He looked at her, confused. "That's nonsense; you'd be a wonderful mother."

"That's not what I said, Vincent." She looked down at her twiddling thumbs, "I'm physically incapable of bearing children."

"What? How do you know this?"

"When I was thirteen, all Tess would complain about were her monthly bleeds. My mother warned me that she was around thirteen when _she_ got her bleeds, so I should expect them around the same time. But they never came. Didn't you wonder why I never had them when we were living together?"

Vincent looked taken aback. "I never thought of it. But I have to ask…you _do _want children, right?"

Catherine shrugged. "I love kids. I can't stand crying babies, though. I'm impatient that way."

"There are plenty of children who don't have a proper home that are starving on the streets. Most of their parents have either died from starvation or have just left the children they can't take care of." Vincent took her hand again. "We can take them in. Give them warmth and shelter. If they want, they can become a part of our family."

Catherine blinked. "You're not angry with me?"

"Why in the world would I be angry with you?"

"I thought you'd want a son or daughter of your own."

Vincent smiled. "It's not important to me where the child came from. JT is an adopted brother, but I love him all the same. An adopted son or daughter shall be loved as my own."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sind had his would-be assassin tied to a post in the middle of the amphitheater, bruised and bloody. His men stood back to watch their traitorous brother by the hundreds, all standing vigil in contempt. It was perhaps twenty-four hours since the Queen had pushed Sind out of the arrow's path, and almost all three thousand men who had witnessed it wanted to see the Queen get her vengeance.

The midafternoon sun beat down upon the scraggly archer, his arms wrenched behind him and secured with ropes. His beard was half brown with mud he'd been splattered with. His clothes were bloody and torn. The left eye had been swollen shut, and a large bruised had blossomed on his jaw.

"Traitor!" someone yelled from the crowd. Though the rebels had not initially been on the Queen's side in all of this, they were angry that the would-be assassin had fired a shot at one of their own. Now of course, their loyalty was with the woman who saved their leader's life and killed the King they'd been fighting against for years.

"You would bow to some cunt and her murderous husband? I would rather be a traitor than a coward," the archer called back, his voice ragged from the lack of water.

"You know, that 'cunt' can still hear you," a woman's voice replied from the midst of the crowd. The sea of men parted to reveal Catherine limping through, her swords secured at her hip. She'd changed her tunic to don a leather vest, which would help hold the bandages in place. Her massive husband trailed behind her, eyes glowing with rage as he regarded the man who shot his wife.

Sind, who had been sitting on the platform with his feet dangling off, began to laugh. "Do you see what you've awakened with your arrow, Smith?" he called to the archer tied to the pole. "Death is upon you, son."

"Is the warrior queen coming to kill a defenseless man? What an honor," the archer spat.

Catherine raised an eyebrow and unsheathed both of her swords. "There is no honor in death, good sir." She walked behind him and slit the ropes around his wrists. He spun away from her as fast as he could, his injuries from his former comrades slowing his movements. Catherine dropped her swords into the dirt. "An even playing field. We're both lacking our weapons. So let's settle this: man to man." She advanced towards him like a cat stalking a mouse, before Smith lunged at her with his arms outstretched.

His shoulder slammed into her arrow wound with his tackle, sending her flying to the ground as she gasped in pain. Smith pinned Catherine beneath him before dealing a punch to her face. To his disbelief, this didn't faze her at all. Her face contorted with rage before head-butting him and kneeing him in the stomach. She threw him off of her, ignoring the fire in her side from her ripped stitches, and stood over his prone form.

"Alexander Smith, for the crimes of conspiring to murder the Warden of the East and inadvertently shooting the Queen of Kroy Wen, I hereby sentence you to death by trial of combat. Do you have any last words?"

Smith got into a crouch and sneered up at the Queen, "You haven't won yet. How's your side?" He launched himself for a second time at her, aiming to hit her wounded side once again. She sidestepped him faster than he could blink, and let him land on his face in the dirt where she'd stood a second before.

Catherine pulled him up to his knees and put him in a chokehold. "I feel fine. How about you?" With a vicious jerk of her arms, she'd snapped his neck. It was silent for a moment, her breaths coming in short pants as the pain in her side spiked again. She limped to her dropped swords and sheathed them once more in the scabbards at her side.

Vincent trotted over to her and let her lean upon him as Sind, Tess, and JT approached them. "Comrades!" Sind announced, addressing the crowd of former rebels, "You no longer have a war to fight. You have a King and Queen who will fight and die for you. Go home to your families. Rebuild what the mad King destroyed."

It was so strange to be able to finally say those words. Sind had been practicing that speech over and over in his head for years, never truly believing that such a day would come that his men could go home. The rebels had obviously felt that way as well, relief coating their faces. They were exhausted and half-starved, their muscles spent from trying to train in such conditions.

The war was over. The fighting was done. A ripple ran through the crowd, a tangible sigh of relief.

"To the Warden, King, and Queen," Sind's lieutenant Jaime said, raising his fist above his head.

"Hear, hear," the men echoed as the sentiment was passed down to those who couldn't hear before. They raised their fists high as well, leaving a sea of stretched arms. Catherine, Vincent, Tess, and JT were at the center of it all, holding hands and appreciating the view. The sunset stretched out behind them, coalescing reds and oranges casting a glow over the decommissioned rebel army.

Now the future was open to them. They could travel to every corner of the kingdom. They didn't know it, but Vincent and Catherine would sail over the oceans and traverse the highest peaks in Kroy Wen. They'd save millions of lives by distributing vaccines and food, as well as providing public housing for those who couldn't otherwise afford it.

Tess and JT would marry after two years of courtship, living out the rest of their days as confidants for the King and Queen. Vincent and Catherine ended up adopting five children: three girls and two boys. All of them were trained to fight just as their mother was. Vincent never did figure out what made him into a Beast, but he didn't really care anymore. He wouldn't have met Catherine if it weren't for the Beast.

They had decades of adventure ahead of them.

But for now, they were only just getting started. Catherine looked at her husband and her friends, a grin upon her face as she said: "So what's next?"

xxxxxFINxxxxxxxx

**Ahahaha. Done. **_**Jesus Christo **_**that is the longest freaking thing I've ever written. A big thanks to everyone that reviewed and stuck through it to the end. Honestly, you guys made writing this totally worth it.**

**BEASTIES FOREVER **


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